
Book ft tff. ! -f 




APPLETONS' NEW HANDY-VOLUME SERIES. 



COMEDIES 



AMATEUR ACTING 



EDITED, WITH A PREFATORY NOTE ON 
PRIVATE THEATRICALS, 



BY 

J. BRANDER MATTHEWS. 



10 

NEW YORK: 
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

1880. 






COPYRIGHT BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 
1879. 



*-0 



! 



M. PAUL FEKRIER, 

TEMOIGNAGE DE COXERATERNITE. 

J. B. M. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

PREFATORY NOTE 7 



A TRUMPED SUIT. By Julian Magnus. . . 17 

A BAD CASE. By Julian Magnus and H. C. Bunner. 69 

COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. By H. C. Bunner. 91 

A TEACHER TAUGHT. By A. H. Oakes. . . 127 

HEREDITY. By Arthur Penn^ ... 153 

FRANK WYLDE. By J. Brander Matthews. . . 205 



PREFATORY NOTE. 



An aspiring amateur actor once asked a celebrated 
dramatic critic, "What did yon think of the perform- 
ance of our club ? " And the cruel critic is said to have 
answered, slowly and with a slight drawl, " I should 
hardly have called it a club ; it seemed to me more like 
a collection of sticks." 

At another private performance, it was either Garrick 
or Kean who exclaimed involuntarily, " There is an act- 
or," when the footman of the play presented a lette: 
and it turned out that, none of the amateurs being will- 
ing to accept so small a part, a professional " utility man " 
had been engaged from the theatre. The player was 
probably not the equal of his noble and gentle associ- 
ates in intelligence or in education, but he knew his bus- 
iness. And it was his business — for them it was only 
amusement. Yet many of them were doubtless told, and 
some of them perhaps believed, that they had only to 
desire success on the stage to find it within their grasp. 
They believed, in short, that they could be actors if 
they chose ; in truth, they were only amateurs. Charles 
Lamb reports Coleridge as having said : " There is an 
infinity of trick in all that Shakspere wrote: I could 
write like Shakspere if I had a mind. " And Lamb adds 



8 PREFATORY NOTE. 

quietly: " So, you see, Coleridge only lacked the mind." 
The application to amateur actors is obvious. 

Macready remarks that, with one exception, the only 
amateur he had seen " with any pretensions to theatrical 
talent was Charles Dickens, of world-wide fame." Now 
it was not jealousy, as some vain amateurs would fain 
believe, which led Macready to write thus. He was 
not above the feeling, as his journal plainly shows, nor 
was Garrick or Kean. But he and they, like all actors 
who have won fame and fortune by hard work, had a 
feeling akin to contempt for those who dabbled for mere 
amusement in the art of acting, to which they had given 
a lifetime of study. They knew that without long labor 
nothing is likely to be achieved in the art which is, to 
a certain extent at least, the union of all other arts. 
Campbell condensed pages of prose discussion into a few 
beautiful lines : 

" For ill can Poetry express 

Full many a tone of thought sublime ; 
And Painting, mute and motionless, 

Steals but a glance of time. 
But by the mighty actor brought, 

Illusion's perfect triumphs come ; 
Verse ceases to be airy thought, 

And Sculpture to be dumb." 

"It surely," Macready comments, "needs something 
like an education for such an art, and yet that appear- 
ance of mere volition and perfect ease, which costs the 
accomplished artist so much time and toil to acquire, evi- 
dently leads to a different conclusion with many, or ama- 
teur acting would be less in vogue." Although the the- 
atre is a place of amusement for the lawyer and the doc- 
tor, it is the workshop of the actor, and his work there 



PREFATORY NOTE. 9 

is just as hard for him as the doctor's or the lawyer's 
is in his study. 

Few would presume to paint elaborate historical pic- 
tures without years of training — without the study of 
perspective, of anatomy, of the handling of colors, of the 
thousand and one other things which the task demands, 
.Yet we find not a few, with as little preparation as possi- 
ble, bravely battling with Hamlet and Richelieu, and re- 
tiring amid the plaudits of their friends, convinced that 
they only need a wider field to rival Booth or the memo- 
ry of Kean and Kemble. There is unfortunately nothing 
in the art of acting as simple as the sketch of which the 
amateur in the art of design can acquit himself without 
discredit. A sketch, as its name suggests, may be the 
happy record of a fleeting impression, slight and incom- 
plete ; but a play, even the lightest little comedy, be it 
never so short, is a complete and finished whole, contain- 
ing at least one situation plainly presented and pushed to 
its logical conclusion. The demand it makes on the 
actor is as great in quality, although not in quantity, as 
the demand made by five acts. 

But the desire for the drama, and for taking part in 
it, is apparently innate in most of us. Possibly a passion 
for mimicry is the survival of a tendency to monkey 
tricks inherited from some simian ancestor who hung, sus- 
pended by his prehensile tail, from the boughs of the for- 
est primeval. Or, as the English poet, Mr. Edmund "W. 
Gosse, has neatly put it : " The taste for acting seems in- 
herent in the human mind. Perhaps there is no imagi- 
native nature that does not wish, at one time or another, 
to step into the person of another, to precipitate his own 
intelligence on the action of a different mind, to contem- 
plate from the interior, instead of always observing the 



10 PREFATORY NOTE. 

exterior. To act a part is to widen the sympathy, to in- 
crease the experience, and hence the diversion of pri- 
vate theatricals has been held to be no small part of edu- 
cation by some of the most serious of men." Amateur 
acting has, in fact, its advantages, needless to be speci- 
fied here. It is well, therefore, to study how to make the 
best use of these advantages, and to turn private theatri- 
cals to profit, as best we may. First of all, the amateur 
should never choose a play which has been recently acted 
by professional actors. The amateur, however good, 
can hardly hope to equal the professional, however poor. 
So he must needs avoid the comparison. Discretion is 
the better part of valor, and private theatricals are in 
themselves a feat foolhardy enough to be the better for 
an extra portion of discretion. They call for all the 
help they can get, so they should never neglect the ad- 
vantage of novelty in the chosen play. The interest the 
spectators feel in the unfolding of the plot may thus be 
reflected upon the actors. 

In the second place, it is the duty of the amateur to 
choose as short a play as possible. A piece in one act is 
far less likely to fatigue the spectators than a piece in fiye 
acts. And the shortness is a great boon to the amateur, 
who lacks many things needed in a long play — the knowl- 
edge, for instance, of how to use his voice without fatigue. 
There is no limit to the variety of subject and style to 
be found within the compass of one act. You can have 
comedy, farce, burlesque, extravaganza, drama, opera, 
and even tragedy — and all in one brief act. One of the 
most effective situations in the modern drama of France — 
a situation so striking that it has been stolen half a dozen 
times — is to be found in a play in one act, " La Joie fait 
Peur," of Mme. de Girardin. Indeed, the French excel 



PREFATORY NOTE. 11 

in the writing of one-act plays, even as they excel just now 
in the writing of plays of almost every kind. Many of 
their lighter comedies in one act are admirably adapted 
for amateur acting ; the characters are well marked, the 
dialogue is flowing and in general not exacting, and 
the scenery and mounting can easily be compassed by a 
little ingenuity and perseverance. Indeed, the scene is 
in most cases laid in a parlor, with the costumes of every- 
day life. Now in such costumes, and in such scenes, 
and in short plays like these, the amateur is seen at his 
best. When he is ambitious, and tries to do " Hamlet " 
or " The Lady of Lyons," or even " The Hunchback " or 
" The Honeymoon," he is seen at his worst. And when 
the amateur is bad, it is often because he is bumptious. 
All amateurs are not bumptious, and all amateurs there- 
fore are not bad. And amateurs who are not bad be- 
cause they are not bumptious, wisely and modestly gauge 
their own strength, and refuse incontinently to do battle 
with any ponderous monster in five acts. 

It has been held by some wise critics that the best 
programme for an amateur performance is a two-act 
comedy, followed by a one-act farce or comedietta, or 
even burlesque ; the more serious play of course coming 
first, and the lighter later — like the sweet after the roast. 
Where the evening's entertainment consists of Mrs. Jar- 
ley's waxworks or tableaux, together with a play, the 
play should always be given first, in order that the spec- 
tators shall see it before they are wearied and worn by 
the multitudinous delays which always accompany a 
series of tableaux, however excellently ordered or fre- 
quently rehearsed. Although the experiment is a rash 
one, a three-act play may sometimes be substituted by 
experienced amateurs for the two plays, with a total of 



12 PREFATORY NOTE. 

three acts. There are many good three-act plays, light 
and bright, and well suited for parlor performance. The 
influence of Mr. Eobertson, the author of " Caste," and 
of his host of imitators in the teacup-and-saucer school 
of comedy, has given us a long list of three-act pieces just 
about worthy of amateur acting. There are unfortu- 
nately but few good two-act plays — " Simpson & Co.," 
the " Sweethearts" of Mr. W. S. Gilbert, and half a 
dozen more. And equally unfortunate is it that, while 
one-act plays must be the staple of private theatricals, 
nearly all the really good comedies of that length have 
been acted so often that they are thoroughly hackneyed. 
As there is no professional demand for pieces in one 
act — managers for some reason or other seeming to be 
afraid of them — the amateur demand does not call forth 
an equal supply. It is for amateurs, however, that the 
half-dozen one-act plays in this little book have been 
prepared. 

One of the comedies which follow, u A Bad Case," is 
wholly original, having been kindly written for this vol- 
ume by my friends Mr. Julian Magnus and Mr. H. C. 
Bunner, working together, as was the custom in the days 
of Beaumont and Fletcher. The other five little plays 
are "not translations — only taken from the French," as 
Sneer smartly phrases it in " The Critic." Some of them 
follow the French originals with more or less closeness, 
while others are indebted only for the suggestion or 
skeleton of the plot. In a different shape, three of the 
five plays have already appeared in " Appletons' Jour- 
nal " and in " Puck," but all have been carefully revised 
for this volume. The title of each of the French come- 
dies thus adapted and the name of the author appear 
at the head of each play. The authors laid under con- 



PREFATORY NOTE. 13 

tribution are M. Eugene Labicbe, tbe leading comic dra- 
matist of France ; M. Mario Uchard, tbe antbor of many 
cbarming fantasies; M. Paul Ferrier, one of tbe foremost 
of the younger dramatic authors of France ; tbe late 
Henry Murger, tbe tender singer of a Bohemia which 
now is not; and M. de Bornier, the author of the " Fille 
de Boland," almost the only tragedy which has of late 
years been successful in France. 

The piece of absurdity, " Heredity," is a simple bit of 
foohng of slight pretensions, and printed here to afford 
an opportunity to amateurs of gratifying the prevailing 
taste for light musical plays. The words of a few songs 
in common metres are given, for which fitting music can 
easily be found either in the lighter operas or among 
the airs of the day: they may be omitted, and other 
songs inserted at any point. The play is offered merely 
as a framework on which the actors may hang what 
they will — a vehicle for the exhibition of any special 
accomplishments, singing, dancing, or what not, in which 
the amateurs who attempt it may be proficient: no 
apology is therefore needed for its literary demerits. 

These plays may all be acted free of charge by ama- 
teurs. Professional performers who may desire to pro- 
duce any of them will please communicate with the editor 
through the publishers. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 

COMEDY 12? ONE ACT. 
By JULIAN MAGNUS. 



CHARACTERS. 



M. Cakbo^el. 
Victor Delille. 
astatole garadoux. 
Cecile, CarboneVs daughter. 
Alette, chambermaid. 



[The French original of this play is " Les Deux Timidesf* 
written by M. Eugene Labiche.] 



A THUMPED SUIT. 



Scexe. Salon in a country house near Paris. 
Large doors at back supposed to open on a gar- 
den. Door L. I.E. Doors L. 2 E. and E. 2 
E. Mantelpiece E. Clock and vases on mantel. 
Table with, writing materials L. B., a small 
ornamental table . Small sideboard against wall 
L. Usual furniture of a handsome salon. 

At rise of curtain, Annette] with hot-water jug in 
her hand, comes from lack, opens door L. 2 E., 
and deposits the jug within. 

Akkette. 

Monsieur, there is the hot water. [ Comes front. ] 
This M. Anatole Garadoux, mademoiselle's intend- 
ed, is what I call queer. He wouldn't suit me at 
all. Every morning, he takes an hour and a half 
to dress himself and polish his nails — that is, half 
an hour to dress, and an hour to trim his nails. 
He has a case of little instruments, and cuts, and 
scrapes, and grinds, and rubs, and files, and pow- 
ders, and polishes — what a housemaid he'd have 
2 



18 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

been if Fate hadn't spoiled him at the start ! - I 
don't know what M. Carbonel can haye seen in him ! 
Oh, my ! I suppose master could no more say 
"no" to him than he can to any one about any- 
thing. It's absurd that a man of his age should 
haye no more will than a baby. He hasn't any 
more firmness than jelly in the sunshine ! His 
daughter makes up for him, though. With all her 
sweetly innocent, yielding manner, she has her 
own way when she wants it. [Cecile is heard 
singing in the garden.] She's coming back from 
her morning walk. 

Cecile, entering at lack with a lot of cut flow- 
ers in her apron. 
Annette, bring the yases. 

Annette, taking vases to table. 
Yes, mademoiselle. [They husy themselves 
arranging the flowers .] He's getting up . I haye 
just taken in the hot water. 

Cecile. 
To whom ? 

Annette. 
To M. Garadoux. 

Cecile. 
What does that matter to me ? 

Annette. 
Haye you noticed his nails ? 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 19 

Cecile, curtly, 
No! 

Aiotette. 

Not noticed his nails ! Why they're as long 
as that. But the other day, in trying to open a 
window, he broke one. 

Cecile, ironically. 
Poor nail ! 

Ajotette. 

To be sure, it will grow again — in time ; but 
wasn't he cross ? Since then, he has always rung 
for me to open the window. 

Ceclle. 
I have already had to ask you not to be for ever 
talking to me about M. Garadoux — it is disagree- 
able ! it annoys me ! 

A:otette, astonished. 
Your intended ! 

Cecile. 
Intended, yes ; but intentions don't always 
lead to — marriage. Where is papa ? 

[Replaces vase on mantel. 

Akkette. 

In his study ; he's been there more than an 
hour with a gentleman who came from Paris — 



20 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile, quickly. 
From Paris ? A young man — a lawyer ? 
Blond — yery quiet manner — blue eyes ? 

Annette. 
No. This one is dark, has mustaches — and a 
beard like a blacking-brush. 

Cecile, disappointed. 
Ah! 

Annette. 

I fancy he's a trayeler for a wine-merchant. 
Your father didn't want to see him, but he man- 
aged to squeeze through the door with his bottles. 

Cecile. 
Why doesn't papa send him away ? 

Annette. 
M. Carbonel ? He's too timid to do that. 

[Places other vase on mantel. 

Cecile. 
I am afraid he is. 

Carbonel, speaking outside R. 2 E. 
Monsieur, it is I who am indebted to you 
— delighted! [Enters with tivo small lot- 
ties.'] I didn't want it, but I have bought four 
casks. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 21 

Cecile. 
You have bought more wine ? 

Annette. 
The cellar is full. [Goes up. 

Oarbonel. 
I know it ; but how could I say "no" to a 
man who was so nicely dressed — who had just come 
twelve miles — on purpose to offer me his wine ? 
In fact, he put himself to great inconvenience to 
come here. 

Cecile. 

But it's you he has inconvenienced. 

Annette, at back. 
The great point is, is the wine good. 

Oarbonel. 

Taste it, 

Annette, after pouring some into glass which 
she takes from sideboard, drinks, and utters cry 
of disgust. 

Oarbonel. 

That's exactly how it affected me. I even 
ventured to say to him — with extreme politeness 
— " Your wine seems to me a little young " ; but I 
was afraid he was beginning to feel vexed — so I 
took four casks — only four ! 



22 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Annette, talcing the samples. 
Well, Fll use these for salads. [Bell heard L. ] 
That's M. Garadoux ringing for me to open his 
window. [Exit L. 2 K 

Carbonel. 
What ! has M. Garadoux only just got up ? 

Cecile. 
Yes, he never appears before ten o'clock. 

Carbonel. 

That doesn't astonish me. Every evening he 

seizes my paper, as soon as it is left, and takes it 

to his own room. I believe he reads himself to 

sleep. 

Cecile. 

And you don't see it ? 

Carbonel. 
Oh, yes, I do — the next day. 

Cecile. 
This is too bad. 

Carbonel. 
I own I miss it ; and if you could manage to 
give him a hint — without its seeming to come from 

me — 

Cecile. 

Fll give him a hint he can't misunderstand. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 23 

Carbo*tel. 
What ! you're not afraid ? 

Cecile, firmly. 
Afraid — of a man who wants to be my husband ? 
Should I have agreed to think about him, if I was ? 

Carbokel. 
I admire your spirit — and you only eighteen. 
You're braver than I. The visit of this stranger 
worries and bothers me. 

Cecile. 
Poor papa ! 

Carbokel. 

Thank Heaven, it will soon be over ! 

Cecile. 
What? 

Carbonel. 

Why, all these visitors with their eternal offers. 
They make me ill. What can you expect ? I 
have passed my life in the Archive Office — in the 
Secret Department. No one was ever admitted 
there. That exactly suited me. Now I can't bear 
to talk to people I don't know. 

Cecile. 
Then you know M. Garadoux well ? 

Oarbokel. 
Not at all ; my lawyer recommends him high- 



24 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

ly, though, to be sure, he's only lately been my 
lawyer. M. Garadoux presented himself boldly — 
we talked for two hours — that is, I with difficulty 
managed to get in four words. He put questions, 
and answered himself — and, you see, I felt quite 
at my ease with him. 

Cecile. 
What were the four words you did get in ? 

Carbokel. 
I promised him your hand — at least, he says 
so. Thereupon, he installed himself here — that 
was a fortnight ago ; and to-day we have to go to 
the mayor's office to publish the bans. 

Cecile. 
To-day ? 

Carbonel. 
He fixed to-day— he settles everything. 

Cecile. 
But, papa — 

Carbokel. 
Well ? 

Cecile. 

Do you like this M. Garadoux ? 

Carbokel. 
He seems a very nice young man — and he can 
talk by the hour together. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 25 

Cecile. 
He's a widower ; and I don't want a second- 
hand husband. 

Carbokel. 
But— 

Cecile. 

Never mind your but. Listen to my but, which 
is, Suppose another suitor should appear ? 

Carbokel. 
What ! Another ! ! More talking ; more in- 
quiries — begin all oyer again ? No ! No ! ! No ! ! ! 

[Sits L. of table. 

Cecile. 
The one I mean is not a stranger — you know 
him well — M. Victor Delille, a lawyer — 

Carbokel. 
A lawyer ! I never could bear to talk to a 
lawyer. 

Cecile. 

He is godmamma's nephew. 

Carbokel; testily. 
I don't know him. I have never seen him. 

Cecile. 

Oh, papa ! I thought godmamma had writ- 
ten to you — 



26 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carboi^el. 
That was three months ago — before Garadoux 
came. It was only a faint suggestion ; and since 
this Garadoux presented himself, I don't believe 
the other has ever thought of you. 

Cecile. 
Oh, yes, papa. I am sure he has. 

Carbonel. 
Oh, indeed ! So you are sure, are you ? Come 
here. Tell me frankly what has he said to you. 

Cecile, sitting on Ms knee. 
Nothing, papa ! — that is, nothing about love. 
But on the day of aunt's birthday dinner — when 
you wouldn't go, you know — 

Carbonel. 
I don't like parties — that is, when there are 
people there. 

Cecile. 

I was sitting next M. Delille — and he kept 
blushing, and doing awkward things. 

Carbonel, aside. 
I can feel for him. [Aloud] What did he do ? 

Cecile. 
He broke a wine-glass. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 27 

Carbokel. 
That's a stupidity — not a symptom. 

Oecile. 

Afterward, when I asked him for water, he 
passed me the salt-cellar. 

Carbo^el. 

Perhaps he is deaf. 

Oecile. 
Oh, no, papa, he is not deaf ; he was nervous. 

Carbostel. 
Well? 

Oecile. 
Well, when a young man — a lawyer — accus- 
tomed to speak in public — gets nervous because 
he is near a young lady, why [lowering Tier eyes] 
— there must be some cause. 

Carbostel. 
And this cause must have been love for you ? 

Oecile, rising. 
Oh, papa, suppose it was I 

Oarbo^el, rising. 
If it had been, he would have come here. He 
has not come, so it was not love ; perhaps it was 



28 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

dyspepsia ! I am very glad he didn't appear, for, 
as matters stand with M. Garadoux — 

Annette, entering at hack. 
The postman just left this letter, monsieur. 

{Exit 
Cecile, quickly. 

Godmamma's writing ! 

Carbonel. 
Don't get excited. Another invitation, I sup- 
pose. Why can't people leave me alone ? [Reads] 
" Dear M. Carbonel : Allow me to present to 
you M. Victor Delille, my nephew, about whom 
I spoke to you some months ago. He loyes our 
dear Cecile — " 

Cecile, joyfully. 
I knew he did ! What did I tell you, papa ? 

Carbokel. 
Here's a pretty dilemma ! [Reads] "His ar- 
dent desire is to obtain her hand. I had hoped 
to accompany him to-day, but illness prevents; 
and he will therefore go to you alone." 

Cecile. 
He is coming here ! 

Oarbokel. 
I shall go out at once. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 29 

Cecile, reproachfully. 
Oh, papa ! 

Carbokel. 
"What can I do ? I have giyen my word to M. 
Garadoux. Yon plunge me into unheard-of dif- 
ficulties. 

Cecile. 
I'll extricate you, papa ! 

Carbos'el. 

How ? What am I to do, badgered and bul- 
lied by two suitors ? 

Cecile. 

You shaVt have two ; you must give M. Gar- 
adoux his dismissal. 

Carbo^el. 

I ! [Seeing Garadoux entering from his room.] 
Hush ! here he is ! 

Garadoux. 
Good morning, dear papa ! 

Oarbokel, loiving. 
Monsieur Garadoux — 

Garadoux, lowing to Cecile. 
My charming fiancee, you are as fresh this 
morning as a bunch of cherries. 



30 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile. 
A pretty compliment to my freshness — on other 
mornings. [She goes to table. 

Carbokel, aside. 
She's in too great a hurry. [Aloud] My dear 
M. Garadoux, haye you slept well ? 

Garadoux. 
Excellently. [To Cecile] I am up a little late, 
perhaps. 

Cecile. 
I did not reproach you. 

Carbokel. 
The fact is, you don't like the country in the 
morning. [Quickly] I don't mean to find fault. 

Garadoux. 
I ? Where is there such a magnificent picture 
as Nature's awakening ? The flowers expand their 
petals ; the blades of grass raise their heads to sa- 
lute the rising sun. [He looks at his nails.] The 
butterfly dries his wings, still moist with the kiss- 
es of night. [Draws a small instrument from his 
pocket and begins to Hie a nail.] 

Cecile, aside. 
He's making this a dressing-room. 



A TEUMPED SUIT. 31 

Gaeadoux, continuing to use file. 
The busy bee commences his visits to the rose, 
while the sweet-voiced linnet — 

Cecile, aside. 
Too much natural history ! [Brusquely] 
What news was there in the paper ? 

Gaeadoux. 
What paper ? 

Ceoile. 
Last night's — you took it — papa wasn't able to 
get a look at it. 

Caebonel, aside. 
What nerve she has ! 

Gaeadoux. 

A thousand pardons, M. Oarbonel. I took it 
inadvertently. 

Caebokel. 
It is not the slightest consequence. 

Gaeadoux, talcing paper from Ms pocket, offers 
it to Carionel. 
I haven't even unfolded it. 

Caebokel. 

Oh, if you haven't read it, pray keep it, M. 
Garadoux. 



32 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Garadoux, offering it. 
No, I beg you will — 

Carbokel, refusing it. 
I entreat you to keep it. 

GARADOUX. 

Since you insist ! [Puts it lack in pocket, 
then goes to glass over mantel and adjusts his 
cravat.] 

Carbonel, aside. 

I should have liked, though, to see how stocks 
were going. 

Ankette, entering, hands card. 
This gentleman wants to see you. 

Cecile, coming quickly to Carbonel. 
A gentleman ! [Looking at card.] 'Tis he ! 

Carbokel, low. 
The devil ! And the other one here ! What 
is to be done ? 

Cecile, low. 
You can't send him away. [Loud to Annette] 
Ask him to walk up ! [Exit Annette. 

GrARADOUX. 

A visitor ! Don't forget, father-in-law, that 
we have to be at the mayor's at noon. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 33 

Carbokel. 
Certainly ! Of course ! [Loto to Cecile] Get 
him out of here. 

Cecile. 

Will you accompany me, M. Garadoux ? 

Garadoux. 
Delighted — where ? 

Cecile. 
To water the flowers. 

Garadoux, coldly. 
The sun is terribly hot. 

Cecile. 
The more reason not to keep the flowers wait- 
ing. Come ! 

Garadoux. 

Delighted ! 

Cecile, aside. 
Fll make him break another nail ! 

[Exeunt Cecile and Garadoux, at lack. 

Carbonel, alone. 

"Was there ever such a situation ? One suitor 

accepted — staying here — and the other — a lawyer, 

too — how he will talk — he's sure to make me say 

what I don't mean. I know what I am — he'll 

3 



34 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

force me to say " Yes " — and then the other. Oh, 
if two affirmatives would only make a negative ! 

Alette, announcing at lack. 
M. Delille. [Exit R. 

Carboml, frightened. 
What shall I say to him ? [Looks at his 
clothes.] Ah ! Can't receive him in a dressing- 
gown. I'll go and put on a coat. 

[Disappears L. I. E., as Delille enters at lack. 

Delille, coming forward very timidly, lows lotv. 

Monsieur — madame — I have the honor — 
[Looks round. ] What, no one ! How glad I am ! 
I do hate to meet any one. I positively shudder 
at the idea of seeing this father, who knows I 
want to take away his daughter. [ Warmly] How 
I love her ! Ever since that dinner when I broke 
a glass, I have been coming to this place every 
day to ask for her hand. I come by the mid-day 
train, but I can't summon up courage to ring the 
bell, and I go back by the next. Once I felt bold 
enough to ring, but then I ran away and hid 
round the corner. If this had been going to con- 
tinue, I should have bought a commutation ticket. 
To-day I am brave ; I have crossed the threshold 
— without my aunt, who was to have brought me, 
and now all alone I am going — [Frightened] Can 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 35 

I do it ? Is it possible to say to a man one doesn't 
know, "Give me your daughter to take to my 
house, and — " [Shuddering.] Xo ! one can't do 
such things — at least, I cant. [Suddenly] If I 

ran away ! Xo one has seen me ! I will — I can 
return to-morrow — by the same train. 

[About to exit back, meets Cecile entering. 

Delille, stopping. 
Too late ! 

Cecile, pretending surprise. 
I'm not mistaken ! M. Victor Delille. 

Delille, nervous. 
Yes, monsieur — that is, mademoiselle — 

Cecile. 
To what chance do we owe the honor of this 

call ? 

Delille. 

A mere chance — I was going by — I was look- 
ing for a notary — I saw a bell — and I rang it — it 

was a mistake. [Bowing.] Mademoiselle, I have 
the honor to say good-by. 

Cecile. 

Pray wait ; my father will be delighted to see 

you . 

Delille. 

Don't disturb him — some other time — 



36 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile. 
No, no ! He would scold me. Won't you sit 
down ? 

Delille, falling into chair. 
Thank you — Pm not tired. [Pulls gloves on 
and off quickly. 1 

Cecile, aside. 
Poor fellow ! How nervous lie is ! 

Delille, aside. 
How pretty she is ! 

Cecile. 

Will you excuse me if I fill my sugar-bowl ? 
[Goes to sideboard, where there is box of sugar 
and bowl.] 

Delille, rising. 

If I am in your way, allow me to — 

Cecile. 
Not at all — if I might venture, I would ask 
you— 

Delille. 

What, mademoiselle ? 

Cecile. 
To hold the bowl for me. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 37 

Delille. 
Enchanted ! [He takes loivh] [Aside] If 
the father found us like this ! I must say some- 
thing to her. I mustn't seem like an idiot. 
[Aloud] Mademoiselle Cecile ! 

Cecile, encouragingly. 

Monsieur Victor ? 

Delille, hesitatingly. 
Tour sugar is very white ! 

Cecile. 
Like all sugars — 

Delille, tenderly. 
Oh, no ! Not like other sugars. 

Cecile, aside. 
Why" does he want to talk about sugar ? 

Delille, aside. 
I have been too bold ! [Aloud] Is it cane 
or beet-root ? 

Cecile. 
I don't know the difference. 

Delille. 
There's a great deal ! One is — much more so 
than the other — 






38 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile, looking at him with ivonder. 
Ah ! tliank you. [Takes iowl from him and 
goes to sideboard.'] 

Delille, aside. 
Why the deuce did I go out of my depth in 



Cecile, seeing Carbonel entering L. 
Here is papa ! 

Delille. 
Oh, Heavens ! 

Cecile. 
Papa, this is M. Victor Delille. [The two men 
are at opposite corners of the stage, and do not 
dare to look at one another.] 

Carbonel, aside. 
Here goes! [Bowing.] Monsieur — I am 
very glad — certainly — 

Delille. 
It is I — monsieur — who — am — certainly — 

Carbonel, stealing a glance at him, aside. 
He looks very determined ! 

Delille, aside. 
I wish I had got away ! 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 39 

Cecile. 
You gentlemen have doubtless something to 
say to one another. I will leave you. 

Oarbo^el akd Delille. 

No, no ! 

Cecile. 

I must attend to my household duties. [To 
Delille] Sit down ! [To Carbonel] Sit down ! 
[They both sit opposite each other.] [Loiv to De- 
lille] Be brave ! [Low to Carbonel] Be brave ! 

[Exit L. I. E. 

Carbonel, aside. 
Here we are alone, and he seems quite at his 
ease. 

Delille, aside. 

I never was so nervous. [Aloud] Mon- 
sieur — 

Carbonel. 

Monsieur — [Aside] I know he's going to ask 
for her. 

Delille. 

You have no doubt received a letter from my 
aunt. 

Carbonel. 

A charming lady ! How is she ? 

Delille. 
Very well, indeed — that is — except her rheu- 
matism, which has kept her in bed for a week. 



40 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carbonel. 

That's all right — I mean I hope it will be, 
soon. 

Delille. 
I trust so, with warmer weather — 

Carbokel, quickly. 
My barometer is going up. 

Delille. 

And mine, too — how strange that our barom- 
eters should agree so well ! 

Oarbonel. 
It will burn up my roses, though. 

Delille. 
You are fond of roses ? 

Oarbokel. 
Passionately. I cultivate them quite exten- 
sively. 

Delille. 
So do I. 

Carbonel. 
That's all right. [Aside] So far we get on 
well. 

Delille, aside. 

He seems jovial ! Suppose I — [Aloud, ris- 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 41 

ing, very nervous] In her letter — my aunt — in- 
formed you that I was coming — 

Carbonel, aside, rising. 
He's going to do it ! [Aloud] Well — you see 
— yes — but she did not clearly indicate the rea- 
son that — 

Delille. 

What ! she did not write that I — 

Carbokel. 
No, not a word about that. 

Delille, aside. 
The devil ! Why, then — oh, this makes it ten 
times worse ! [Aloud, tuith great effort] Mon- 
sieur — I tremble while I ask — 

Carbo^el, trying to turn the conversation. 
What a sun ! Hot as fire ! It will kill the 
roses. 

Delille. 

I put shades oyer mine. I tremble while I 
ask the favor — 

Carbokel, as before. 
Will you have some wine ? 

Delille. 

No, thank you ! I was about to ask the favor 
of— 



42 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carbokel, as before. 
So you, too, cultivate roses ? 

Delille. 

Yes ! Last year I exhibited the " Standard of 
Marengo." 

Carbokel. 

And I the "Triumph of Ayranches," three 
inches in diameter. Have you it ? 

Delille. 
No. Monsieur, I tremble while I — 

Carbokel, offering snuff-box. 
Will you take a pinch ? 

Delille. 
No, thank you. I tremble while I ask you 
for— 

Carbokel, firmly. 
What? 

Delille, disconcerted. 
For one — who — a graft of the "Triumph." 

Carbonel, quickly. 
What ! Certainly, my dear young friend, with 
the greatest pleasure — . [Going. 

Delille. 
But, monsieur — 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 43 

Carbostel. 
I'll put it in moss for you myself. [Going. 

Delille, aside. 
He won't stay. [Aloud] Monsieur Carbo- 
nel — 

Carbo^el, at door. 
With trie greatest of pleasure — delighted — 
[Aside] I got out of that well ! [Exit at lack. 

Delille. 

He's gone — and I haven't said a word. Idiot ! 
beast ! fool ! ass ! 

Cecile, entering gayly, at lack. 
Well, Monsieur Victor ! 

Delille, aside, mournfully. 

N" ow it's her turn ! 

Cecile. 
Have you had a talk with papa ? 

Delille. 

Yes, mademoiselle — 

• 

Cecile. 
And are you satisfied with your interview ? 



44 comedies for amateur acting. 

Delille. 
Enchanted ! The best proof is that he has 
gone to fetch what I asked for — 

Cecile, naively. 
Then he's looking for me ? 

Delille. 
No, not you ; some grafts of roses. 

Cecile, astonished. 
Grafts ! 

Delille. 
Yes, mademoiselle — f or a quarter of an hour 
we talked about nothing but roses. 

Cecile. 
But why was that ? 

Delille. 
Because — because I am the victim of a dread- 
ful infirmity — I am timid. 

Cecile. 
You, too ? 

Delille. 
Timid to the verge of idiocy ! Can you be- 
lieve it ? I could sooner kill myself than utter 
aloud what I have kept saying to myself these 
three months past — and that is, that I love you ! 
that I adore you ! that you are an angel — 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 45 

Cecile. 
It seems to me you say that very well. 

Delille, astonished at Ms audacity. 
Have I said anything ? Oh, forgive me ! Don't 
think of it any more. I didn't mean to — it slipped 
out — I'll never do it again — I swear — 

Cecile, quickly. 
Don't swear ! I do not require an oath ! You, 
timid, a lawyer ! How do you contrive to plead ? 

Delille. 
I don't. I tried once, and shall never try 
again. 

Cecile. 
Tell me about it. 

Delille. 
My aunt got me a client. Heaven knows, I 
never sought him. He was a very passionate man, 
and had once struck his wife with a stick. 

Cecile, reproachfully. 
And you clef ended the wretch ? 

Delille. 
Wait till you hear hotu I defended him ! The 
great day came. All my friends were in court. 
I had prepared a brilliant speech. I knew it by 



46 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

heart. All at once there was an awful silence. 
The President bowed to me, and said courteously, 
"Will the counsel proceed ?" I rose — I tried to 
speak — I couldn't utter a sound. Every eye was 
on me — the President invited me with a gesture 
to go on — my client called, "Speak! speak!" 
At last I made an almost superhuman effort — 
something rattled in my throat — then it seemed 
to burst, and I stammered out, "Messieurs, I so- 
licit for the accused — the utmost severity of the 
law." Then I fell back into my seat. 

Cecile. 
And your client ? 

Delille. 
Got what I solicited — six months in prison. 

Cecile. 
He deserved them. 

Delille. 

Yes, it was too little for what he made me suf- 
fer. I didn't take my fee — it's true he forgot to 
offer it. And now that you know my infirmity, 
tell me, how is it possible for me to ask your father 
for your hand ? 

Cecile. 

I can't ask him to give it you, 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 47 

Delille, naively. 
No, I suppose that wouldn't do. Well, we 
must wait till aunt gets better. 

Cecile, quickly. 
Wait ! Don't you know, papa has another 
offer? 

Delille, overwhelmed. 
Another ! 

Cecile. 

Yes, and he's here, and he has papa's promise. 

Delille. 

Good gracious ! So I have to face a struggle, 
a rival. 

Cecile. 

But I don't love him ; and if I am forced to 
marry him, I shall die. 

Delille. 

Die ! You ! [Boldly] Where is your father ? 
Send him to me. 

Cecile. 
You will ask him ? 

Delille, heroically. 
I will! 

Cecile. 
I'll fetch him. [Going.'] Courage ! Courage ! 

{Exit at lack. 



48 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTIXG. 

Delille, alone. 
Yes, I will ask hini ; that is, not directly — 1*11 
write. I write a very bold hand. [Sitting.] This 
is the thing — a letter does not blush and tremble. 
[ Writes rapidly as lie speaks.] I did not know I 
was so eloquent. [Folds and addresses note] " A 
Monsieur Carbonel." [ Unconsciously puts a stamp 
on.] There ! Xow it's all right. 

Carboxel, outside. 
Keep them fresh. He'll take them soon. 

Delille, frightened. 
He, already ! I can't give him this. Ah, I'll 
put it in front of the clock. [Puts letter lef ore- 
clock and returns C] 

Carbonel, entering at lack and coming R. 
My dear friend, your grafts are ready. 

Delille. 

Thank you ! [Aside] He has not seen Cecile. 
[Aloud] On the clock. [Points.] 

Carbo^el. 
What did you say ? 

Delille. 
A letter. I'll return for the answer. 

[Exit quickly at back. 



a trumped sot. 49 

Cabboxel. 
On the clock— a letter ! [He tales it.] 

Cecile, entering L. I. E. 

Oh. papa. I've been looking for yon. [Aston- 
ished.] But where is M. Delille ? ' 

Caeboxel. 
Just gone, but it seems he has written to me- — 
on the clock. 

Cecile. 
What ? 

Cabboxel. 

Yes. it is for me — see. he has put a stamp on. 
[Reads] ••'Monsieur, I love your daughter: no. 
I do not love her — ?? 

Cecile. 
Eh? 

Caeboxel, continuing. 

•'•'I adore her — " [To Cecile] Go away, you 
must not hear this 

Cecile. 
But I know it. papa. 

Caeboxel, 
Oh, I suppose that makes it all right. [Read- 
ing] i: l adore her." [Speaking] Eow did you 
know it ? 

Cecile. 
He told me. 
4 



50 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carbohel. 
Very improper on his part. 

Cecile. 
Go on ! what else does he say ? 

Carbokel, reading. 
"You can offer me but two things — her hand 
or the grave. " [Speaking] Since he gives me a 
choice, Fll let him have the grave. 

Cecile. 
Oh, dear papa, when you say you love me so 
much ! [Kisses Mm.] 

Carboi^el, aside. 

Lucky Delille ! [Aloud] But what can I say 
to Garadoux ? 

Cecile. 

Yes, I see — you're too timid — 

Carbokel. 

Timid ! I ! Nonsense ! One man's as good 

as another. 

Cecile. 

Certainly — if you except Garadoux ! 

Carbonel. 
I'm not afraid of him, and I know exactly 
what to say to him. By the way, what ought I 
to say ? 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 51 

Cecile. 
Don't say anything; follow M. Delille's ex- 
ample — write. 

Carbokel. 

I will. [Sits.] Here is a very firm pen. 
[Writing] "Dear monsieur — " [To Cecile] 
What next ? 

Cecile, dictating. 

"Your suit flatters—" 

Carbo^el, ivriting. 
"And honors me — " [Speaking] Let us soft- 
en the blow. 

Cecile, dictating. 

"But I regret it is impossible to accord you 
my daughter's hand." 

Carbokel, writing. 
"Daughter's hand." [Speaking] That isn't 
enough. I must giye a reason. 

Cecile. 
I'll giye one; go on. [Dictating] "I beg you 
to believe that, in writing this, I only yield with 
the greatest reluctance to considerations entirely 
private and personal, which in no way lessen the 
esteem I shall always entertain for you." [Speak- 
ing] Now sign ! 

Carbokel. 
You call that a reason ? 



52 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile. 
A diplomatic one; it may mean every thing or 
nothing. 

Garadoux, outside. 

Take that to my room. 

Carbokel. 
His voice ! 

Cecile. 
I leave you. 

Carbokel. 
No, don't. What am I to do with this ? 
[Indicating letter, ,] 

Cecile. 
King for Annette, and bid her give it to M. 
Garadoux. Now, au revoir, you dear, good papa. 

[Kisses Mm, and exit L. 

Carbokel. 

She's a spoilt child ! Now for Annette ! 
[Rings.'] 

Garadoux, entering at hack. 
Well, papa, are you not ready yet ? We 
ought to be at the mayor's now. 

Carbonel. 
Yes. [Aside] If that stupid Annette would 
but come. [Aloud] While waiting, I have writ- 
ten a very important letter. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 53 

Garadoux, not listening. 
I'll tell you a secret, but not a word to your 
daughter. They have come ! 

Carbokel. 
Who have come ? 

Garadoux. 

My presents for her. 

Carbokel, aside. 
He has bought the presents. 

Garadoux, polishing Ms nails. 
You shall see them — they're superb — particu- 
larly a pair of bracelets. [Aside] I must have 
broken that nail, watering. [Aloud] They're 
blue enamel and gold. 

Oarbokel. 
Blue and gold ! [ With great effort] The let- 
ter I haye just written — 

Garadoux. 
I have not forgotten you, papa. [Taking box 
from pocket.] A souvenir — a snuff-box. Style 
Louis XV., guaranteed. 

Oarbokel, touched. 
Oh, monsieur, my — my dear son-in-law, you 
are too good. 



54 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Garadoux. 
Dear papa, you know how fond I am of you. 

Carbokel. 
And I of you. [Aside] It's impossible to give 
such a letter to a man who presents one with such 
a snuff-box. 

Garadoux. 
Twelve o'clock. The mayor will be waiting ! 

Oarbo^el. 
In a moment. I must change my cravat. 

Garadoux. 
And I my coat. [Aside] Devil take that nail ! 

[ Exit L. 2 E. 

Carbokel, alone. 
I couldn't do it. I must tear this up. And 
the other — he's coming for my answer. [Looks 
at letter.] No address ! and I didn't put any 
name in the letter. [Going to table.] I'll direct 
it to Delille — Cecile can't marry both — and Ga- 
radoux has bought his presents. [Reads] "To 
Monsieur Victor Delille." Now for a stamp. 
[Rises.] And now to put it on the clock. 
[Places letter on the clock.] 

Delille, entering at lack. 
It is only I ! 



a trumped suit. 55 

Carbonel. 
On the clock ! [Exit L. I. E. 

Delille, alone. 
On the clock ! Hasn't he read it ? [Takes 
letter. ] Yes ! this is the answer. I scarcely dare 
open it. [Reads] " Dear monsieur : Your suit 
flatters and honors me — '" [Speaks] How kind 
he is! [Reads] "But I regret it is impossible 
to accord you my daughter's hand," [Falling 
on chair.] Eefused ! I knew it ! 

Cecile, entering at back. 
Monsieur Victor, have you seen — 

Delille. 
Your father ? I have. There is his answer. 
[Gives letter.] 

Cecile. 

What, my letter ! This wasn't meant for you ! 

Delille, pointing at address. 
It's directed to me. 

Cecile. 
This is outrageous. I shall haye to attend to 
this affair myself. I'll let you all see / am not 
timid. Send for a carriage. Quick ! 

Delille. 

A carriage ! For whom ? 



56 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Cecile. 
You'll know by and by. Go ! 

Delille. 
I fly ! [Aside] What energy ! 

[Exit quickly at lack. 

Cecile. 
Papa shall not break his word to me like this. 
[Takes her shawl and bonnet from a chair at 
back.] 

Carbokel, entering L, L E. 

I've put on my cravat. [Sees Cecile. ] Where 
are you going ? 

Cecile, tying her bonnet. 
Away ! I leave you for ever ! I am about to 
immure myself in a convent. 

Carbokel. 
Eh! 

Cecile. 

A damp and cold one, where I shall not live 
long. But you will not care, for you did not love 
me enough to save me from a man I hate. 

Carbokel. 
But it's impossible ! He's bought his presents. 
Lovely ones, including a Louis XV. snuff-box for 
me. 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 57 

Cecile. 
So you have sacrificed me to a snuff-box. 
Farewell, cruel father ! 

Carbostel. 
It is no sacrifice ! He is a charming young- 
man ; and in the end you will learn to — besides, 
he's dressing to go to the mayor's. 

Cecile. 
Tell- him you can't accompany him; Say 
you're ill. [She takes off bonnet and shawl] 

Oarbokel. 
Ah ! that is a good idea ; but he was here 
five minutes ago. 

Cecile. 
People can die in less time than that. Say it's 
a rush of blood! [Calling'] Annette, hurry, 
bring papa's dressing-gown ! 

Carboxel. 
No, no ! I don't want it. 

Alette, entering with dressing-gown. 
What is the matter ? 

Cecile. 
Nothing serious. Bring some eau sucree. 
[Helping Carionel zuith gown.] Put this on ! 



58 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carbokel. 
I don't like playing such a part. 

Cecile. 
Never mind ! now the other sleeve ! 

Carbostel. 
And, look here, I won't say a word. You'll 
have to manage it all. 

Cecile. 
I know that. [Making him sit in arm-chair.] 
Annette — a foot-stool and a cushion. 

Annette, "bringing them. 
Here, mademoiselle. 

Cecile. 
I hear him. [Takes glass and stands by her 
father.'] 

Garadoux, entering with hat. 
Now we're all ready. [Seeing Garbonel.] Ah ! 
what has happened ? 

Cecile. 
Papa has had a sudden — 

Garadoux. 
What? 

Cecile. 
Eush of blood. He is suffering greatly. It 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 59 

will be impossible for him to go out to-day. Will 
it not, papa ? 

Carboxel, aside. 
I protest by my silence. 

Garadoux. 
Poor M. Oarbonel ! I think it would be well 
to apply some leeches. 

Akkette. 
Yes, I'll go for some. 

Carbokel. 
No, no ! 

Oecile, quickly. 
This is better for him. [Gives him glass.] 
Drink, papa. [He drinks.] 

Garadoux. 
It doesn't do to take liberties with one's health. 
[Trimming his nails.] Health is like a fortune — 
not really appreciated till it's lost. 

Oarbonel, aside. 
I wonder how long I'm to be smothered up 
here. 

Oecile, to Garadoux. 

These attacks of papa's generally last several 
days ; and if, by chance, your affairs call you to 
Paris — 



60 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Garadoux. 
I couldn't think of leaving M. Carbonel while 
he is ill. 

Carbokel, aside. 
An excellent young man ! 

Garadoux. 
Besides, this need not delay our marriage. I 
can go alone to the mayor. 

Cecile. 
Eh? 

Garadoux. 

M. Carbonel's presence is not absolutely nec- 
essary. He can give his consent in writing. 

Cecile. 
Papa is too fatigued now. 

Garadoux. 
Oh, it's only a signature. [Sitting at table. ] I'll 
write the body. 

Cecile, low. 
Don't sign ! 

Garadoux, bringing paper and pen. 
Sign here ! 

Carbonel. 
But— 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 61 

Cecile. 
What shall I do ? [Takes inkstand and hides 
it behind her bach] 

Carbo^el. 
Where is the inkstand ? 

Garadoux, after looking on table. 
Mademoiselle is kind enough to hold it for 
yon. 

Carbo^el. 

Thank you, my dear child. [He dips pen.] 

Cecile, aside. 
All hope is gone ! 

Delille, entering running, at back. 
The carriage is at the door. 

Garadoux. 

What carriage ? 

Delille, astonished. 
What ! Monsieur Garadoux ! 

Garadoux~ aside. 
Devilish unfortunate ! 

Delille, 
You have been well since— 



62 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Garadoux, quickly. 
Perfectly ! 

Carbonel. 

So you know one another ? 

Delille. 
Yes, I had the honor to defend monsieur — he 
was my first client. 

Cecile. 
Ah! [To Carbonel, low] Imprisoned for six 
months ! 

Carbostel, rising in consternation. 
What's this ? [To Garadoux] You have been 
in prison ? 

Garadoux. 

It was nothing — a quarrel — in a moment of 

excitement — 

Cecile. 

Monsieur struck his first wife with a stick. 

Aknette, coming L. C. 
Oh, the villain ! [Puts lack chair and foot- 
stool.'] 

Carbo^el. 
My poor Cecile ! [To Garadoux] Go, sir ! 
Leaye this house, you wife-beater ! Take away 
your presents. Here is your snuff-box. [Offers 
his old horn one.] 



a trumped suit. 63 

Garadoux. 
Excuse me, that is not the right one. 

Carbo^el, with dignity giving the other. 
There it is ! — yon may keep the snuff I put in it. 

Gaeadoux. 

I am glad, monsieur, that this little incident 

has so quickly restored you. [Going, to Delille] 

Idiot ! [Exit L. 2 E. 

Carbokel. 

What was that he said ? 

Cecile, low to Delille. 
Now then, ask him at once. Put on your 
gloyes. 

Delille. 

But isn't it — 

Cecile. 

Don't be afraid. He's more timid than you. 

Delille, Iravely. 
Oh, he's timid, is he ? [Begins to put on gloves.] 

Cecile, loio to Carlonel. 
He's going to ask for my hand. Put on your 
gloves. 

Carbonel. 
But isn't it — 

Cecile. 

Don't be afraid. He's more timid than you. 



64 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Carbonel, bravely. 
Oh, he's timid, is he ? [Puts on gloves.] 

Delille, holdly. 
Monsieur ! 

Carbokel, same manner. 
Monsieur ! 

Delille, resolutely. 
For the second time, I ask for your daughter's 
hand. 

Carbostel. 
Monsieur, you ask in a tone — 

Delille, sternly. 
It is the tone I choose to use, monsieur. 

Carbokel, same manner. 
Then I am happy to grant your request, mon- 
sieur. 

Delille. 
But you grant it in a tone — 

Carbokel, sternly. 
It is the tone I choose to use, monsieur. 

Delille. 

Monsieur ! ! ! 

Carbokel. 

Monsieur ! ! ! 



A TRUMPED SUIT. 65 

Cecile, coming between them. 
[Aside] They'll quarrel in a minute. [Aloud] 
Monsieur Victor, papa hopes you will stay to din- 
ner. That was what you wished to say, wasn't it, 
papa ? 

Caebo^el. 

I suppose so ! But mind, he mustn't break 
any glasses. [Aside] I'll make him try the new 
wine. 

Cecile. 

Oh, FU answer for him. He has nothing more 
to be nervous about now. Have you, Victor ? 

Delille. 
I am not quite sure about that, Cecile. 

Cecile. 
Do you know, I have never felt nervous till 
now? [To the audience] You have seen these 
two timid people — well, I am just as timid as they 
were, and we shall all remain in the same unhappy 
state, until we receive the assurance of your ap- 
proval. 

5 Curtail. 



A BAD CASE. 

AN ORIGINAL COMEDY IN ONE ACT. 
By JULIAN MAGNUS and H. C. BUNNER. 



CHARACTERS. 



Aethue Chisholm, M. D., aged 30. 
Miss Letitia Daleymple, aged 50. 
Miss Sylvia Daleymple, her niece, aged 19. 
Lucy, a servant. 

Sceke : Sniallington Centre, N- Y. 
Time — The Present. 



A BAD CASE. 



Scexe : Drawing-room in Miss Dalrymple's 
House. Windows to ground at back, show- 
ing distant landscape. Doors R. and L. 

Miss Dalrymple and Lncy discovered at rise of 
curtain. 

Miss Dalrymple, bonnet and shawl on . 
Lucy, I am obliged to go out for an hour — 

Lucy. 
What, ma'am, with your bad elbow, and you 
expecting your nephew every minute ? After 
sending for the new doctor, too ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
New doctor indeed ! I wish old Jenkins hadn't 
died — though to be sure for the last twenty years 
he never gave anything but syrup of squills, for 
fear he should make a mistake, and he was so 
shaky that when he counted my pulse he always 
made it one hundred and fifty. It's two hours 



70 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

since I sent for this new doctor, and lie hasn't 
come yet. My elbow might haye died in half the 
time. I mean I might have died. What is this 
new doctor like ? 

Lucy. 
I don't know, ma'am ; he only came day before 
yesterday ; but I have heard he is young and good- 
looking, and they say there's been quite an epi- 
dermic among the single ladies this morning. 
But must you go out, ma'am ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Yes, Lucy. The creatures — I can't call them 
anything else — no sooner heard that my elbow was 
troubling me than they called a meeting to elect 
that Mrs. Smith Presidentess. I am not going to 
let them beat me like that. No; if I wasn't 
strong enough to walk there, I'd crawl, even if 
I had to be carried on a shutter. And when the 
conspirators meet they will find me among them — 
the Nemesis of Smallington Centre ! 

Lucy. 
But if your nephew, Mr. Blackhurst, should 
arrive while you're a Nemesising it, ma'am ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
I don't think he will ; there's no fast train 
now from New York till the afternoon; and if Mr. 
Arthur's anything like what he was eight years ago 



A BAD CASE. 71 

when he went away, a slow train won't suit him . 
But call Miss Sylvia, and I'll tell her what to do 
in case he should come ; and be sure not to say 
anything to her about my having had the rheuma- 
tism this morning. I don't want to frighten her. 
[Lucy goes toward door as Sylvia enters i?.] I 
was just going to call you, miss. 

[Exit Lucy R t 
Sylvia. 
Did you want me, aunt ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 

Yes, my dear. I have to go out; there are 
traitors in our camp. I must make a martyr of 
myself, or the Dorcas Society will be wrecked — yes, 
wrecked, by that awful, designing Mrs. Smith ! A 
widow indeed ! I should like to know where her 
husband is. 

Sylvia. 

Probably dead ! 

Miss Dalrymple. 
I don't believe it, though to be sure she's 
enough to have killed any one . What do you 
think — she actually proposed to admit gentlemen 
to the Society's Tuesday evenings ! 

Sylvia. 
Horrible ! 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Wasn't it ? jSTow, dear, if by any chance my 



72 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

nephew should come while I am away, try to make 
him comfortable. Treat him as I myself would. 
I hear he has quite reformed. And you know he's 
my only relation except you. And let me tell 
you of a little idea I have in my head. If only 
he should like you, and you should like him — ■ 
why, can you guess what might happen then ? 

Sylvia. 
Like would cure like, I suppose — truth of the 
homoeopathic principle once more asserted. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
I don't believe in infinitesimal doses. 

Sylyia. 
No more do I. [Aside] Especially of love. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
You've never seen him, of course, my dear, 
but I don't know, really, whether that isn't rather 
an advantage ; you'll be all the more predisposed 
to like him. 

Sylvia. 

I'll do my best, aunty dear. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
You'll have very little difficulty, my love. 
You'll be surprised in him — you'll find him quite 
a striking young person. A little flighty in his 
conversation, perhaps, but — 



A BAD CASE. 73 

Sylvia. 

Oh, I like vivacity, aunty. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Then I'm sure you'll get along very well with 
my nephew. Good-by, my dear. The machina- 
tions of that Mrs. Smith demand my attention. 
Kow, don't fail to receive your cousin kindly — 
avoid any appearance of cold reserve, and don't 
be astonished if he's a little odd and — foreign in 
his conversation. Good-by. 

[Exit Miss Dalrymple L. 

Sylvia, alone. 
I'm sure I shall never know what to do with 
him, if he should come. It is horribly awkward 
— to be left to receive a strange cousin — all alone. 
What shall I call him ? I can't say " cousin " ; it 
sounds too familiar. And then — if he's a forward 
young man. . . . And what am I to talk to him 
about ? I can't awaken reminiscences of his youth, 
that's clear. And I daren't talk about his foreign 
travel . I don't see, though, why I should bother 
myself so much about him. Aunt Dalrymple's 
scapegrace nephew, indeed ! A pretty person ! I 
shouldn't care to see him if there weren't another 
man in the place — and there are other men in the 
place. There's the clergyman's eldest son just get- 
ting to be twenty-one and quite nice ; and the new 
doctor who came day before yesterday, and the 



74 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

girls all say he's perfectly sweet. I shan't worry 
much oyer Mr. Blackhurst. I do not propose to 
make the slightest preparation for him. I'll receive 
him just as I am, and he may start the conversa- 
tion. [Bell rings.'] The bell ! There he is ! 
And I'm sure I look horrid. [Runs to mirror 
and arranges rillo'ris.] Oh, dear, that'll never 
do. I'll just run up stairs for a moment. 

[Exit Sylvia, R. 
Miter Lucy L., showing in CMsholm. 

Chisholm, 
Here I am at last ! I suppose you thought I'd 

never get here ! 

Lucy. 

Miss Dalrymple has been expecting you a long 

time, sir. 

Chisholm. 

I'm very sorry to have kept her waiting. Take 
her my card. [Aside] I don't see why a doctor 
shouldn't carry a card, as well as any one else — 
especially when it's his first visit. And I'm sure 
I had a card somewhere about me. [Feeling in 
pockets] Ah ! here it is ! [Gives it. 

Lucy, going R. 
Yes, sir ! [Reads] Mr. Arthur Blackhurst. 
[Aside] So he's come at last. And he doesn't 
look so very scapegrace-y either. [Aloud] I'm 
so glad you've come, sir ! [Exit R. 



A BAD CASE. 75 

Chisholx, alone. 
So glad — wonder whether she wants me, too. Of 
all the towns for sick single women, this is the worst 
— I mean the best. If s business for me, if it is 
.... sentiment for them . I've had only one male 
patient to-day — but Fm bound to say he occupied 
more time than even the worst old maid on my list. 
Let me see, what was his name. He did give me a 
card. [Feels for it] I suppose I must have left 
it at the house. I'd have been here two hours 
ago, to attend to this unfortunate elbow, if it 
hadn't been for him. A very neat black eye he 
had — a very artistic little mouse. Got it in a 
fight with a bar-keeper, and wanted it toned down 
before he could go to see his maiden aunt. I 
painted it oyer in distemper — magnesia and honey 
— and he's drying off now. Ah, -now for the next 
old tabby. [Sylvia enters R.] Tabby ! why, she's 
a kitten, bless her ! 

Sylvia, rushing to him. 

Oh, I'm so glad you've come ! [Taking doth 

Jus hands. 

Chisholm. 

Thank you — you're very kind. [Aside] 
"Well, I'm glad I have come. [Aloud] You see 
I've only just — 

Sylvia . 

Yes, we know you've only just arrived. We 
had expected you a little earlier ; but we won't 



76 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

reproach you now you are here. Sit down, do 
[they sit, 0. and L. C.~\. You must make yourself 
quite at home, you know. 

Ohisholm. 
I'll try to. [Aside] Nice cordial style about 
the people here ! 

Sylvia . 
My aunt has been so anxious to see you . 

Ohisholm, aside. 
Her aunt, too. Wonder what's the matter 
with the aunt. Confound the aunt ! 

Sylvia. 
I hope you're quite well. [Aside] He seems 
to feel a little strange. I must be more cordial. 
[Aloud] Quite well ? 

Chisholm. 
Quite well, thanks. [Suddenly] How's your 
elbow ? 

Sylvia. 
My elbow ! [Aside] He is very flighty. 
Perhaps that's a foreign idiom. 

Ohisholm, embarrassed. 
I mean — I mean — I mean — heavy rain yester- 
day — bad weather for rheumatism . 



A BAD CASE. 77 

Sylvia. 
And bad for the corn, too . 

Chisholm. 
The corn ! Well, to tell you frankly, corns 
are not exactly in my line . 

Sylvia, aside. 
He has no inclination for an agricultural life. 
Fin afraid he's not thoroughly reformed. Per- 
haps he has not sown all his wild oats. [Aloud] 
Now tell me all about yourself. You don't know 
how much interest I take in you. What have 
you been doing the last eight years ? 

Chisholm, astonished and embarrassed. 
Well — that is — you see — 

Sylvia, quietly. 
Oh ! I beg your pardon — I ought not to have 
asked that, for I suppose you have been very — 
very — [hesitates. 

Chisholm. 
Well, I have been rather — rather — [hesitates. 

Sylvia. 
Yes, of course, but that is all over now, and 
you're going to settle down here and be quite 
proper and steady, aren't you ? 



78 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Chisholm. 
Yes, certainly, Miss Dalrymple. [Aside] It's 
nice to have a pretty girl show so much interest in 
one. 

Sylvia. 

Oh, you needn't be so formal. I feel already 
as though we were very old friends . 

Chisholm. 
Thank you ! [ Aside] I wish she'd begin about 
her elbow ; she didn't seem to like my referring 
to it. 

Sylvia. 

Now, I don't know what to call you. I can't 
address you as Mister, it seems so distant and un- 
friendly toward one of whom I am going to see so 

much. 

Chisholm. 
I hope so. 

Sylvia. 

Oh yes, indeed. Now we have you here, we're 
not going to let you slip away in a hurry. We'll 
not allow you to fall back again into — rather — 
rather — you know. 

Chisholm. 
I don't want to. I think it's very nice here. . 
[Change of tone] Your elbow's better, I suppose ? 

Sylvia, aside. 
What a queer phrase that is ! I wonder what it 



A BAD CASE. 79 

means ? It won't do to appear too innocent. 
[Aloud] Oh yes, thank you. 

Chisholm, aside. 
She needn't thank me. She's getting well too 
soon. She's very pretty. What an interesting inva- 
lid she'd make ! [AMid] I think all you need is 
toning up. 

Sylvia. 

And I've heard that all you need is toning down. 

Chisholm. 
At least our two tones seem likely to be har- 
monious. 

Sylvia. 

Why should they not, Ar — Arthur ? 

Chisholm. 
Arthur ? [Rapidly moving his chair up to 
hers] Miss Dalrymple ! 

Sylvia. 
You may call me Sylvia. 

Chisholm. 
You are only too good. [Seizing her hand, 
speaking hurriedly] Ah ! if you could but know 
what an instantaneous impression your beauty, 
your grace, your delicacy have made upon me, you 
would not wonder, Winona — 



80 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Sylvia. 
Sylvia, you mean ! 

Chisholm, as before. 
Sylvia, I mean — you would not wonder that 
this young heart yearns toward you, in all its — its 
— its adolescent efflorescence, Miranda — 

Sylvia. 
But my name is not Miranda ! 

Chisholm. 
Of course not. [Sinking on his Tcnee] Ophe- 
lia, I can no longer restrain the throbbings of a 
heart that — 

Sylvia. 

Oh hush, Arthur ! You must not speak to me 
like that — at least, not until you have seen my 
aunt — our aunt. 

Chisholm [rising, startled]. 
Our aunt ! [Aside] Look here, this is get- 
ting a little too rapid for me. [Resuming his pro- 
fessional air] I trust your elbow is entirely well ? 

Sylvia, aside. 
That elbow again ! Oh, gracious me ! I do be- 
lieve — upon my word — the poor fellow — he's just 
a little — crazy, you know. The hot climates — or 
something — have turned his head. And [looking 



A BAD CASE. 81 

out window] there is aunt coming. [Aloud] Ar- 
thur, aunty's coming. 

Chisholm. 
The deuce she is ! 

Sylvia. 
Yes. Aren't you glad to see her ? 

Chisholm. 
Well, no, not particularly. 

Sylvia. 

Not glad to see aunty ? 

Chisholm. 
I wish " aunty" was in — Afghanistan. 

Sylvia. 
Arthur ! [Aside] He's really crazy. I must 
humor him. [Aloud] Well, suppose we go into the 
library. 

Chisholm. 
Are you coming ? 

Sylvia. 
Yes. Then you'll feel more like seeing aunty. 

Chisholm. 
Perhaps I shall. Come along, by all means. 



82 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Sylvia, leading him JR. 
You go. Fll follow in a moment. [Chisholm 
enters room. Sylvia immediately shuts and locks 
door.] He's quite crazy, poor fellow. I am afraid 
he'll do aunty some mischief. However, he's safe 
there for a few minutes, and I can send for the 
gardener to help control him. 

Miss Dalrymple, entering L. 
Of all the disgraceful outrages ever perpe- 
trated, this last outbreak of my wretched nephew's 
is the worst ! [Sinks into chair. 

Sylvia. 

What has he done, aunt ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Done ! What hasn't he done ? Broke into 
the Dorcas rooms, just as I was about to over- 
whelm that Smith woman, with a dreadful black 
eye and very drunk, and, seizing me round the 
waist, tried to make me dance, while she laughed 
her horrible, vulgar laugh and secured nearly all 

the votes ! 

Sylvia. 

You must forgive him, aunt. He is not ac- 
countable for his actions. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
I hear he has been in the town for hours — 



A BAD CASE. 83 

that he had a fight in a low saloon, where he got 
that terrible eye. 

Sylvia. 
I didn't notice anything the matter with his 
eye. 

Miss Dalkymple. 
Has he been here then ? 

Sylvia. 
Yes. I've locked him up in that room. 

Chisholm, pounding on door. 
Sylvia ! let me out. I'm not afraid of your 
aunt. She's nothing to me. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Listen to that — the ungrateful boy, for whom 
I have done so much. 

Sylvia. 
I am sure I tried all in my power to keep him 
quiet and happy. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Yes, dear, I am sure you did; the mischief 
was done before he saw you. [Chisholm pounds 
on door. 

Sylvia. 
Shall I risk letting him out ? 



84 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Call Lucy and the gardener first. He may be 
dangerous in this state. 

Sylvia. 
But they mustn't hurt him. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Hurt him ! Fll have him taken at once to the 
police-station. [CMsholm pounds.] Yes, sir. 
My gardener and my maid shall take you to the 
police-station. 

Chisholm. 
I'll smash your gardener and your maid and 
the whole family if I get a chance at you. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Hear the wretch ! 

Lucy, entering L. 

marm ! Miss Dalrymple ! What is all 
this horrible noise ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Lucy, where's the gardener ? 

Lucy. 
He's out, marm, for the day. You gave him 
permission this morning. 



A BAD CASE. 85 

Miss Daleymple. 
Then how shall we get rid of this drunken 

wretch ? 

Sylvia. 

aunty, he's not drank ! 

Miss Daleymple. 

What is he. then ? 

Sylvia. 
He's only crazy, aunty, dear — only the least 
d sane . [ CMsholm pounds ferociously. ] He's 

only a little bit flighty and foreign in his ways. 

Bui I'm not afraid of him. I'll open the door. 

Lucy. 

Oh. law ! miss, don't go near him. It may be 
contiguous. 

Sylvia. 

Oh. he was really quite nice and calm with me. 

Miss Daleymple. 
Yes, open the door, Sylvia ; and I myself will 
lead the miscreant to the tribunal of justice. 

LrcY. 

She means the police-station, where the green 
lamp is. marm, don't be so hard on him. 

Sylvia. 

aunty, spare him ! [Kneeling.] He's really 

so very nice. 



86 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Lucy, sobbing. 
So very nice, ma'am. Oh ! [She starts, as 
Chisholm batters on door. 

Miss Dalrymple. 

Sylvia, rise, I command you, and bring forth 

the culprit. [Sylvia opens door.] Come out, sir ! 

[Pause. 

Lucy. 

Please come out, sir. [Pause. 

Sylvia. 
Please come out — Arthur — dear ! 

Chisholm, entering. 
What the — dickens do you mean by locking 
me in there ? Have I fallen into a mad-house ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Sylvia ! What does this mean ? Who is this 
man you have been concealing in my house ? 

Lucy. 
Yes, Miss Sylvia, what is this clandestineness ? 

Sylvia, to Miss Dalrymple. 
Is not this your nephew ? 

Miss Dalrymple. 
No!! 

Sylvia, to Chisholm. 

Are you not Arthur ? 



A BAD CASE. 87 

Chisholm. 

That is my name. [To Miss Dalrymple] Ma- 
dam, I entered your house upon a perfectly honor- 
able errand, and strictly in pursuance of my pro- 
fession. 

Miss Dalrymple. 

Young man, if you're in the Electro-plating, 
History of the Bible, Sewing Machine, or Light- 
ning-rod line, I don't want any of them. 

Chisholm. 
Madam, when I came here, I sent up my 
card. 

Lucy. 

Yes, I took it to Miss Sylvia ; it read as plain 
as print, "Mr. Arthur Blackhurst." 

Chisholm. 
The man whose eye I painted this morning ! 
You must excuse me ; I had his card in my pocket 
and forgot to look at it. I am Dr. Arthur Chis- 
holm. 

Sylvia. 

Arthur Chisholm ! 

Miss Dalrymple. 
Dr. Chisholm ! 

Lucy. 
The new physicianer ! 



88 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ohisholm. 

Precisely — who lias spent a most agreeable half 
hour with this young lady. 

Sylyia. 
I am afraid it was a great deal too agreeable. 
Oh dear ! 

Miss Dalrymple. 

Never nrind, my love. I'm sure the doctor 
will forgive you if you've been rude to him. 

Sylvia. 
But I wasn't rude to him — and that's just 
what's so horrible ! 

Miss Dalrymple. 
You will join us at dinner to-day, Dr. Ohis- 
holm, and permit us to make our apologies more 

fully. 

Chisholm. 

I shall be most happy ; and then I shall be 

able to diagnose more carefully the case of my 

interesting patient here. [Indicating Sylvia. 

Miss Dalrymple. 
But it was I who sent for you, Doctor. 

Ohisholm. 
You ! Then it was you who had the rheuma- 
tism ! How's your elbow ? 

[Quick Curtain.] 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 

COHEDY IN OXE ACT. 
By H. C. BUNKER. 



CHARACTERS. 



Ernest Archibald. 

Virginia Berkeley, a young widow, his 
cousin. 



[The French original of this play is " Le Monde Renversef 
written by M. Henri de Bornier.] 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 



Scene : A drawing-room in a country house, 
prettily furnished. Door from hall, E. 2 E. 
Door to next room, L. TJ. E. Through large 
French windows at the back is seen a flower- 
garden ; in the distance, a yiew of the Hud- 
son. Large table a little to the left of C. , with a 
chair on each side. Jardiniere, with flowers, 
in the window E. Mantelpiece at L. 1 E. 

Ernest Archibald stands by the mantelpiece, looking rath- 
er mournfully at a photograph in a velvet frame. He sighs in 
a mild and subdued way, and his inspection appears to yield 
him but a limited amount of satisfaction. After a moment, 
however, he breaks the silence and opens the play by solilo- 
quizing : 

If I dared ! But I don't dare. I didn't dare 
before the advent of the late-lamented Berkeley ; 
and now that he has come and gone, I don't see 
any material improvement in the position. If 
she was formidable as a girl, she's only doubly 
terrifying as a widow. Cousin Virginia ! Cou- 
sin Virginia ! — hello, Cousin Virginia ! 



92 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

The tone of his sentimental apostrophe suddenly changes, 
and his last repetition of the name is simply a surprised saluta- 
tion, addressed to a young lady who has just entered the room 
R. 2 E. The young lady has bright eyes and an air of entire 
self-possession, which, in conjunction with a mischievous smile, 
give a faint hint of the reason why Ernest hadn't dared. And 
the general appearance of the young lady sufficiently explains 
why he felt badly about it. Virginia Berkeley carries on her 
arm a traveling-shawl, and in her hand an extremely small 
work-basket, of which luggage her host proceeds to disembar- 
rass her. 

Eekest. 
Why, my dear Virginia, we didn't expect you 
so soon ! Let me take your shawl — and that 
work-basket. How did you get here ? 

Virginia. 
Ernest, where's my aunt ? 

Erkest. 
She's gone to the station to meet you. 

Virginia. 
What ! did she think I was going to take that 
hot, stuffy railroad to ride twenty miles ? As you 
would say, not much ! I drove up from Peekskill 
in the phaeton. John is putting my pony in the 
stable at this moment. Pony's tired — which re- 
minds me that I am too. But you don't offer me 
a chair. You stand still and look at me, just as 
you've done for twenty years, ever since we were 
small children in pinafores. Your pinafore was 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 93 

dirty : mine was clean. You used to stare at me 
then : you do now. I don't see that it has ever 
done you any good. It is yery complimentary, 
but I should prefer a chair. 

Ernest. 
I don't know why you want a chair when I 
am present. You always sit down on — 

Virginia, severely. 
Ernest ! No slang, if you please ! Especially, 
no impertinent slang. Ah, thank you ! You 
haye picked out the only uncomfortable chair in 
the room, but neyer mind — it will do. 

Ernest. 

Virginia, how long are you going to stay 
here ? 

Virginia, promptly. 

One week. But, if the prospect alarms you 
already, you may go somewhere else. Well, why 
are you looking at me now ? 

Ernest. 
I'm not looking at you. 

Virginia. 
What are you looking at, then ? 

Ernest, hesitatingly. 
I'm looking at your dress. 



94 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Virginia, absently. 
Oh, yes. I've left off my mourning. 

Ernest, involuntarily. 

Hop-li ! 

Virginia. 

Ernest ! What do you mean by that ex- 
traordinary remark — to characterize it mildly ? 
It is the first sign of animation you have given. 
I have no objection to vivacity, but the form it 
takes is a little peculiar. 

Ernest. 
Now look here, Virginia ; you didn't care a 
copper for him, either. 

Virginia. 
Whom do you mean — what do you mean — are 
you insane, Ernest ? 

Ernest. 
I mean the late-lamented. Oh, don't look 
indignant and offended. It was your mother's 
marriage ; not yours. I don't say anything dis- 
respectful of the late Berkeley — no, far from it. 
I've had a high regard for him ever since he died 
and left you your freedom and his fortune and a 
pony-phaeton. But, alive, he was a decided bore ! 

Virginia, 
Ernest ! 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 95 

Ernest. 
Yes, a bore ! He bored me ! 

Virginia. 
Tout 

Ernest. 

Yes ! For — because — you know. 

Virginia. 
Great heavens, Ernest ! it isn't possible that 
you're trying to make love to me ! 

Ernest, somewhat taken aback. 

Isn't it ? 

Virginia. 

How long since you got that idea into your 

head ? 

Ernest. 

TVell^ I didn't quite expect this kind of thing 
— at least, so much -of it. I meant to tell you 
that — that — for a long time I've been — 

Virginia. 
Well, what ? 

Ernest. 

Er — er — sighing — 

Virginia, highly amused. 

Sighing ? Sighing ? Oh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha ! Sigh- 
ing ? Ernest, dear ; do tell me next time you 
sigh — I should so like to see you sighing. [Con- 
formation of ha-ha's.] 



96 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ernest. 
Oh, confound it ! Virginia ! don't laugh so. 
Let me speak. 

Virginia. 
Certainly — oh, certainly. Fd like to see how 
you do it. Take care ! you're not the first, you 
know. If you don't introduce some novel effect 
into your courtship, you've no chance at all. 
Come, let's hear you sigh. 

Ernest, confidentially, to vacancy. 
Not the first. I should think not ! Perhaps 
this would be a good situation to exit on. 

Virginia. 
Proceed. Sigh ! 

Ernest. 
Well, then — I love you ! 

Virginia. 
Doubtless. Proceed. 

Ernest. 
I — I — More you. 

Virginia. 
Couldn't you adore me with a little variation 

of style ? 

Ernest. 

If you doubt that my love will last — 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 97 

Virginia. 
I don't. That's just what Fm afraid of. It's 
a very stupid kind of loye. 

Ernest. 
But I ask so little, Virginia. I don't demand 
that you should love me — 

Virginia. 

Now, that is really kind and considerate of 
you ! 

Ernest. 

"When you left this house two years ago, Vir- 
ginia, you were not so cruel to me. I was twenty 
years old — it was spring — and that was the last 
day of spring on which you left us. Do you not 
remember that time, my cousin ? Has the odor 
of your ball-bouquets overpowered the perfume 
of our woodland flowers ? / have not forgotten, 
at least. I can see you now : running down the 
long walks of the garden ; your dark hair flying 
behind you ; I can hear the clear ring of your 
voice as you called my name. Ah, what a grand 
air you had then ; though you were only a little 
girl just from boarding-school. I was sometimes 
almost afraid of you, but I always admired you — 
ay ! I loved you, though I did not know it. 

Virginia. 
You were better off then than you are now. 

7 



98 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Erxest. 

I was ! for you were kinder. Those were the 
days when yon used to say : " Cousin Ernest, 
come and make love to me ! " You don't say 
that any more, now. 

Virginia. 

I do not. But come, my poor Ernest, what 
folly this is ! If you would only stop loving me, 
I should like you so much better. Affection 
doesn't improve your personal appearance, my 
dear. You make most horrid faces to accompany 
your compliments. Seriously, though, you are 
spoiling my visit for me. I came here to have a 
good time ; to see you and my aunt ; and no 
sooner have I arrived than you begin talking to 
me in this disagreeable way. You must not make 
love to me. We are very good friends ; I love 
you as a cousin. Love, Ernest ! Why, it's like 
taking a newspaper — I might discontinue my 
subscription at any time. But friendship — it is a 
precious book, that we read and re-read a hun- 
dred times, and never grow tired of. Why should 
we try to force our inclinations ? The love we 
seek would spoil that which we now enjoy. Come, 
you will be a good boy, and obey me. 

Erkest, with promptitude and decision. 
I will not. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 99 

Virginia, surprised. 
What? 

Ernest. 

I mean, I can not. I loye you, and — 

Virginia. 
Then I'll go back to Peekskill instanter. 

Ernest. 
You can't. I saw your coachman pass the 
window just this moment. He is undoubtedly 
gone to the tavern, which is half a mile down the 
road. 

Virginia. 

Then, if I've got to stay, we'll settle this at 
once. I hate you. I detest you. I shall always 
continue to hate and detest you ! 

Ernest. 
Virginia — cousin ! 

Virginia, not at all mollified. 
Don't come near me. 

Ernest. 
But- 

Virginia. 

No! 

She arises, walks swiftly to the mirror, and removes her 
hat, which, being of the Gainsborough pattern, lends a rakish 
air to the wearer. Its removal enables her to look consistently 



100 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

languid, and she throws herself into a large arm-chair to the 
right of the table, and tries to pose for a martyr. The unfor- 
tunate Ernest pauses in a moody promenade from end to end 
of the room, and turns to address her. Immediate resumption 
of hostilities. 

Ernest. 
Look here, Virginia. 

Virginia. 
I will not look there, sir. I am your victim. 
Don't speak to me. You've put me all out of 
sorts. 

Ernest, on the left of the table. 
You must hear me ! My life is at your feet — 

Virginia looks down at the tiny tip of her shoe, resting 
comfortably on a brioche, as if to verify the assertion. Her 
lover, however, refuses to take any notice of this small outrage, 
and proceeds > 

I will make you the tenderest of husbands— 

Virginia, starting to her feet in horror. 
Husbands ! The audacity of the wretch ! 

Ernest. 
Well, suppose — 

Virginia, tragically pacing the room. 
Leave me, sir ! I will bear this no longer. 

Ernest. 
At least, pardon me if I — 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 101 

Virginia. 
There's no if about it. You have. But I 
will not pardon you. 

Ernest, immovable. 
What a fool I've been ! Oh — there, there — 
Fm going. You see Fm going. 

Virginia, unable to see anything of the sort. 
Then what are you stopping there for ? 

Ernest, frankly. 
To look at you. You are so deucedly pretty 
that way. 

Upon this he prudently retires through the left upper door- 
way just as Virginia returns to her arm-chair. Left alone, the 
young lady laughs quietly to herself for a moment, and then 
looks serious. Her cheeks flush, apparently with indignation, 
and she indulges in a brief and fragmentary soliloquy. 

Virginia. 
The wretch ! [ With satisfaction} I did well 
to laugh at him. [With a slight touch of com- 
punction] Perhaps I laughed a little too much. 
[ With an air of judicial abstraction] For, after 
all, he couldn't help it. [Softening] Poor Er- 
nest ! [Quite melted] Poor dear ! 

The left upper door softly opens, and the head of the exile 
appears. This movement seems to be inopportune on his part, 
for, as soon as his cousin perceives it, her face clouds over 



102 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

again. The unwelcome youth enters, however, and advances 
to the fray. His reception is not encouraging. 

Virginia. 
Ernest ! You back ? 

Ernest, with resolute cheerfulness. 
Yes. You see. Come, don't be so tragic. 
I generally go when Pm boun — I mean, when 
I'm sent away. I went when you told me to. I 
saw it was best. Anger sat enthroned upon your 
bang. I went out on the lawn, and I hadn't 
taken two steps before up flew a little bird — yes, 
a little bird ! He flew first right, and then left, 
and then he whistled three times. If that wasn't 
an omen, I don't know what is. It was an omen. 
And in obedience to it I return. 

Virginia, puzzled. 
But I don't understand — 

Ernest. 
Oh, but I do. That little bird didn't whistle 
for nothing. He meant to say to me : "Look 
here, you're a nice sort of a fellow, to give it up 
like this ! Because your cousin frowns and tells 
you to leave her when you say you love her, you 
quietly put on your hat and go ! Bah ! that's the 
kind of thing you must expect in love. Go back 
and begin again. Go on worse than ever. She 
expects you-^-" 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 103 

Virginia, indignantly. 
She does not ! 

Ernest, undisturbed. 
Fm only telling yon what the bird said. Talk 
to him. "Go back, old fellow/' he went on, 
"and try it again." So Fin back. Charge it to 
the dickey-bird. 

Virginia. 
And you think your bird and your impudence 
will have any effect on me ? 

Ernest, placidly. 
Can't say. Hope so. 

Virginia, rising with a nervous start. 
Ernest ! you'll drive me crazy — no, you won't 
— you'll make me cry ! Oh, dear ! Why, Ernest 
— just put yourself in my place. 

Ernest. 
In your place ? 

Virginia. 
Yes — no, that is. I don't mean literally — 
that would be funny. Courtship with variations. 

Ernest, meditatively. 
In your place ! 

Virginia. 
Well, yes ! In my place. And then perhaps 
you'd find out, sir, that adoration may be torture 



104 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

to a woman. Of what do you suppose my heart 
is made, if you think I enjoy haying you batter 
at its portal in this fashion ? [She crosses L.~\ 

Ernest. 
I suppose it's made of some pretty tough ma- 
terial. 

Virginia. 

You do ? Well, come, we'll see how you like 
it yourself. I'm going to convince you — this in- 
stant. It is I who will make love to you. [She 
comes lack to the table.] 

Ernest. 
Good joke. 

Virginia. 
You think so, do you ? Well, you'll see. I 
am going to pay court to you from now to sun- 
down, without pity or remorse. You shall be the 
lady fair, and I the enamored knight. And take 
care of yourself, my lady ! 

Ernest. 
Good idea. 

Virginia. 

Yes, but — one thing. I want to gain some 
substantial results by this operation. 

Ernest. 
If you go about your business properly, you'll 
gain me. I'm a pretty substantial result. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 105 

Virginia, seating herself on the left of table.. 
Nonsense ! But see — the game is to close at 
dinner-time — at six o'clock. And from that time 
to the end of my yisit here, you are not to say one 
single word of love to me. Do you promise ? 

Ernest. 
Yes — unless — 

Virginia. 

Unless ? 

Ernest. 

Unless you ask me to. 

Virginia, with sarcastic merriment. 
I accept that condition. Unless I ask you to. 
Well, then — oh, one word more ! You — 

Ernest. 
Well? 

Virginia. 

You won't take any unfair advantage of your 
position ? 

Ernest. 
Certainly not. 

Virginia. 
I mean— don't introduce me to any type of 
lady that I haven't met before. 

Ernest, emphatically. 
I won't. Don't be afraid. I'll take you for a 
model. 



106 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Virginia. 

Ladies don't pay compliments, sir ! This 

won't do. We must have a -forfeit. Eyery time 

you forget your role of lady fair, you shall pay 

me — let us see — what have you in your pockets ? 

Ernest. 
Here are ten silver dollars. 

Virginia. 
Do you want them ? 

Ernest. 
No, glad to get rid of them. 

Virginia. 

Well, then, each time that you forget your- 
self, you shall pay me one of these ; proceeds to 
be devoted to the Home for Indigent and Vener- 
able Females at Peekskill. I'm one of the direc- 
tors. There are ten ' ' lady directors " of the Home, 
and some day we expect to get an Indigent and 
Venerable Female to put in it. So these are your 
forfeits. 

Ernest. 

All right. But what's sauce for an Indigent 
and Venerable Female is sauce for a young and 
lovely one. What are you to forfeit to me if you 
forget that you are a gentleman ? 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 107 

Virginia. 
Well, what ? What do you suggest ? 

Ernest. 
Hm ! Say — say, for instance, a kiss — 

Virginia, energetically negative. 
No ! no ! no ! no ! 

Ernest. 
Why not ? 

Virginia. 
Do you estimate a kiss from me at one dollar 
only ? 

Ernest. 

By no means. Its value is not to be esti- 
mated. I don't even attempt it. The dollar is 
merely a counter — an arbitrary representative of 
value. But if you are talking on a business basis, 
I know an old woman who could be induced to 
go to your Home. I'll throw her in. Does that 
satisfy you ? 

Virginia. 
No! 

Ernest. 
All right then. The fight is declared off, and 
the treaty abrogated. I shall return to my la- 
bors. 

Virginia. 

Oh, dear, no ! I can't have that. And, any- 



108 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTIXG. 

way — there can't be any danger. I can rely on 
myself, on my skill, and my — 

Erxest. 
Charms. 

Virginia. 

A compliment ! Pay me a forfeit. 

Ernest. 
Time's not called yet. 

Virginia. 
Never mind. I don't want to bankrupt yon 
so soon. You'll lose your silver counters soon 
enough. But now — it's all understood, is it ? 
The play is cast — we know our roles ? Then up 
goes the curtain. [She touches a bell on the ta- 
iled Now, then, let the company remember 
their cues. [Rising and lowing to an imaginary 
public. ~\ Ladies and gentlemen, " Courtship with 
Variations," comedy in one act, by a collabora- 
tion. 

And she reseats herself. The exponent of the opposing 
role takes the chair on the other [R.] side of the table, and 
for a silent minute or two both appear to be absorbed in re- 
flection. It is the truce before the battle. After another 
moment, Ernest steals a sly glance at his antagonist, and 
surprises her in the act of doing the same thing. After this, 
there is more silence, and considerable fidgeting in both chairs. 
At last Virginia whispers to herself, by way of relief: 

He's got to speak, some time or other. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 109 

He, however, does not seem to think so. Struck by a sud- 
den idea, he reaches for the diminutive work-basket on the ta- 
ble, and placidly begins a wild travesty of crocheting. The 
owner of the basket looks on the ruin of her handiwork with 
some dissatisfaction, but does not venture to interfere. She 
once more takes refuge in soliloquy : 

Ten counters — ten kisses — it's too much, by 
nine, at least. I've got to do something. Come, 
to work ! 

And with a desperate effort she rises and marches around 
behind the table, to the calm artist in crochet, who raises his 
eye3 languidly and continues to tangle her worsted. She ad- 
dresses him : 

Virginia. 
Cousin, are you very clever ? 

Ernest, languidly crocheting. 

Ea-ather ! 

Virginia. 

Not exceptionally so, I suppose ? 

Ernest. 
Not more so than — [Ms eye falls on his count- 

ers] — most people. 

Virginia, leaning over the lack of his chair. 
Well, if you're clever at all, tell me why it is 

I am happy just at this very moment. 

Ernest, femininely lored. 
Oh, dear I Fm sure I don't know. 



110 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Virginia. 
You don't ! Well, HI tell you. Pm happy 
because I haye an opportunity of telling you that 
there are two things about you that I have always 
admired — your eyes. 

Ernest, in a quiet aside. 
Guying, is she ? 

Virginia. 
Let me lift your hair off your forehead — so ! 
Ah ! you look well so. Pine forehead, well-arched 
brows — how is it I neyer noticed them before ? 
Nose — straight. Greek type. 

Ernest. 
These are what you call compliments, I sup- 
pose ? 

Virginia . 

I'm always particular in the matter of noses. 
Let's see. Chin — quite correct. Cheek-bones — 
not too high and not too low. 

Ernest. 
Sounds like a description for the benefit of 
the police. 

Virginia. 

And your hand — quite a lady's hand. Long 
and slender — and dimples, too ; upon my word, 
dimples ! [Aside] Oh, it's no use. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. HI 

For this broadside of compliments proves a dead fail- 
ure. The victim lies back in his chair and plies his crochet- 
needles, complacently smiling. So far, he seemingly enjoys 
being wooed. Virginia sits down on the extreme left and 
meditates. Her eye lights on the jardiniere in the window, 
and it supplies her with an idea. She rises, crosses to the 
right-hand upper corner, and plucks a rose. 

Ernest, suddenly and ferociously. 
Yow-oo-oo ! 

Virginia, at the jardiniere. 
What's the matter ? 

Ernest. 
I've stuck your inf — I mean your crochet- 
needle into my hand . 

Virginia, unmoved hy the catastrophe. 
Never mind, dear ; go on crocheting. 

Ernest, aside. 
Damn crocheting ! 

Virginia, crossing lack to him. 
Let me put this in your buttonhole, cousin, 
there !— ah, no ; that's a little too red. We'll 
tone it down. [ Crossing again to jardiniere and 
back.] Here's a tuberose. Ah ! now you are — 
ravishing ! You are a picture ! {Standing off to 
admire Mm. ] 



112 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ernest. 
I'm a daisy, am I ? 

Virginia. 
You are — oh ! what a daisy you are ! [Clasp- 
ing her hands."] 

Ernest, aside. 
Guying again ! Let us resume the offensive. 
[Aloud] Oh, dear ! 

Virginia. 
What is it now ? 

Ernest, spilling the worh-lasket. 
I don't know — I feel — so — oh ! 

Virginia. 
So what ? 

Ernest. 

Oh, you've put me all out of sorts ! I feel — 

hysterical ! 

Virginia, to herself. 

He's making fun of me. 

Ernest, feelly. 
cousin ! Please — send for a doctor. 

Virginia, with masculine indifference. 
Nonsense, my dear child ; you'll get oyer it — 
you'll get oyer it. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 113 

Ernest, plaintively. 
Indeed, I won't. I feel worse now. 

Virginia. 
Let's see. [Putting her hand on his forehead.] 
Poor dear ! your head is hot — absolutely feyerish ! 

Ernest, unwarily. 
Yes— that's it. 

Virginia, seizing her opportunity. 
Yes, dear. [Soothingly] Let me keep my 
hand here — it will cool your forehead. 

Ernest, equal to the situation. 
No, my dear. [Removing the cooler.] It 

wouldn't be proper. 

Virginia, to herself, as she retires. 
It won't do. I must try something stronger. 
For a debutant, he takes care of himself pretty 
well. [Aloud] Ernest, do you know of what I 
am thinking ? 

Ernest. 

Of nothing, probably. 

Virginia, impulsively . 
The impertinent fellow ! [Aside, recollecting 
herself] But no. It's his part. That's the way 
we women do. [She returns to the attach.] No, 

8 



114 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ernest, I was thinking of your youth — of the 
happy days when we were children. Have you 
forgotten them ? [Pensively'] We were always 
together then. We had no other friends. We 
lived a life apart from other children. You were 
my Paul, and I was your Virginia. 

Ernest, heartlessly. 
Oh, yes, I remember. A romance in duode- 
cimo — idyls — pastorals — the regular business. But 
you get oyer that sort of thing as you grow older, 
you know. There isn't much wear to it. 

Virginia, aside. 
He is getting positiyeiy outrageous now. 
[Aloud, with a sudden change in tone] Stay, 
Ernest, it is better that we should stop here. 
Perhaps — perhaps — we have gone too far already. 
I have been too .... reckless in lending myself to 
this comedy. We must not play with love like 
this ! [She seats herself, and rests her head on 

her hand.] 

Ernest. 

Virginia ! [Aside] What's all this ? 

Virginia, nervously. 

It is not impossible that — without knowing it 

— that my heart should cease to be insensible — 

that my laughter of this morning should change 

to tears before the evening. Even now, it seems 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 115 

to me, I tremble at the thought of the strange 
game we are playing. What if, in this jest, I 
should betray myself ? [Growing move and move 
excited.] What if — I learned to love you? 
[Aside] We'll see, this time ! 

Ernest, on Ms feet. 
What ! Is it true ? You might — you might 
— love me ? Yes, yes, for / love you ! Cousin — 
Virginia — my own ! Don't check this impulse of 
your heart — it speaks the truth. Why should 
you not give me your heart, as you have taught 
me to give you — 

Virginia, with a peal of laughter. 

One dollar ! 

Ernest, taken abaci: 
One dollar ! 

Virginia. 
Yes — a counter — a forfeit. Caught this time. 

Ernest, solemnly ve seating himself. 
'Twasn't fair. 

Virginia, 
Why not ? 

Ernest. 

Because I wasn't caught. 

Virginia. 
You weren't .... 



116 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ernest. 
I wasn't caught. ~No. 

Virginia. 
Then why did you respond in that way ? 

Ernest. 
Well, my dear, the circumstances — after what 
you have said, you know — politeness required — I 
could do no less. 

Virginia. 
Do you mean to say that I didn't deceive you ? 

Erkest. 
Not in the least. 

Virginia, warmly. 
You didn't believe, when I spoke to you just 
now, that I was beginning to feel for you a— a 
tender sentiment ? 

Ernest, with shameless mendacity. 
I did not believe it. 

Virginia, growing excited. 
Explain yourself, sir ! You were not serious^ 
then, when you answered me ? 

Ernest. 
I was jesting — as you were. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 117 

Virginia, exploding. 
And you dared ! You had the audacity ! 
Ah, now I believe you have been jesting from the 
first — this love you have always expressed — it was 
a jest, too ! 

Ernest, languidly. 
You don't think that. 

Virginia. 
I do ! Ah ! it is a good lesson to me. That 
is the way we women are deceived. What fools 
we are ! It was just the same air, the same accent 
— the same words, the same look of adoration. 
'Twas no better done when you meant it — but 
you never meant it. If you can imitate love so 
well, you can never have felt it. I have un- 
masked you. We will settle this matter. [March- 
ing from right to left, up and down the room.] 
We'll see — we'll see ! What ! You don't an- 
swer me? No — you canH ! Be silent — it is 
the best thing you can do ! Oh, if I spoke my 
mind — you — you — impostor ! I can not restrain 
myself ! I'm going — and I'll never — never — see 
you again ! 

And she departs, L. U. E., like a small feminine hurricane. 
Yet the bang of the door seems to cover something like a sob. 
The wretched impostor sits still, as a man conscious of his own 
iniquity. But, as he meditates, a puzzled look begins to over- 
spread his features. With less depression in his tone than 
becomes the situation, he murmurs to himself : 



118 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Well, I swear ! Well, I swear ! Well, I 
swear ! I'll swear she was going to cry ! 

The striking of a clock and the simultaneous opening of 
the door disturb his profane reverie. Virginia appears on the 
threshold. She may have been " going to cry," but she certainly 
shows no signs of having yielded to the impulse. She is bright, 
laughing, and triumphant. 

Virginia. 
Ernest, dinner ! The game is oyer ! You re- 
member the agreement. I exact strict adherence 
to the terms therein expressed. From this time 
until my departure, you are not to whisper one 
word of loye to me. 

Ernest. 
Unless you ask me to. 

Virginia, laughing. 
Unless I ask you to — that was agreed. 

Ernest, calmly. 
And you will also be so kind as to remember 
that I still retain nine counters, and that each of 
them represents a — kiss. 

Virginia, with icy resignation. 
I suppose I must submit. 

Ernest. 
No. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 119 

Virginia. 

What ? 

Ernest. 

No. No doubt it would be very delightful to 
press my lips to your cheeky if but one look inyited 
me. But thus — No ! your calmness speaks with- 
out disguise . The charm is destroyed . You know, 
yourself, the contact of lips is nothing — it is the 
emotion, the soul of the kiss, that I seek. 

Virginia. 

Excuse me, sir. You may be doing violence 
to your feelings in kissing me ; but I insist — I 
have my reasons . At this price I shall be finally 
freed from your importunities ; you shall fulfill 
your part of the bargain. Come, sir, treaties are 
made for the benefit of the victor. If you are 
generous — you will kiss me. 

Ernest, graver. 
Very well — I will obey, since honor compels 
me. {Going toward her as she stands at center. ,] 
You are blushing. 

Virginia. 
No, I'm not. 

Ernest. 
Yes, you are, I say. 

Virginia, impatiently. 
No, sir ! No. Fm ready. 



120 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

The victim turns her cheek to the recalcitrant conqueror, 
who exacts his tribute with hesitating reluctance. Virginia 
shivers nervously, and Ernest frowns darkly, like a captive 
pirate on the point of execution. 

Ernest. 
This is — cruel. But it must be done, and one 
gets accustomed to everything. Eight more. 

Virginia. 
No, I beg of you ! 

Ernest. 
Eight kisses, if you please. 

Virginia. 
But just now you didn't care about them at alL 

Ernest. 
But just now you cared about them a good 
deal. 

Virginia. 

But, then — since — Ernest — please don't in- 
sist. 

Ernest. 
Why not ? Is it that — you love me ? 

Virginia. 
No — not a bit. What is troubling me is — 
are — those eight counters. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 121 

Ernest. 
You don't like the gross amount of kissing 
they represent ? 

Virginia. 

No. 

Ernest. 

Well. There's a way to stop all that kind of 
thing. 

Virginia. 
What is it ? 

Ernest. 

Marry ! 'Twon't trouble you any more after 
that. 

Virginia, looking down. 
Isn't there any other way ? 





Ernest. 


Not that I know of. 


Oh, dear ! 


Virginia 


A pause. 


Ernest. 


Come, Virginia 


, decide. 


Decide — what r 


Virginia, 

> 



Ernest. 
Whether you'll marry me or not. 



122 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Virginia. 
Who was talking about marrying ? 

Ernest, with business-like precision. 
I was ; and you were, too. 

Virginia. 
Well, don't talk any more — at least not to-day 
— to-inorrow. 

Ernest. 

And what do you wish me to do to-morrow ? 

Virginia. 
Oh, you may — you may ask any questions you 
want to. And [with a smile] I may answer 
them. 

Ernest. 
I haven't any questions to ask. 

Virginia. 
You haven't ? 

Ernest. 
No. Virginia, we set out to play "Courtship 
with Variations," and play it we shall. It may 
be a shade frivolous and foolish, our comedy ; 
but it is I who have the dangerous role — that of 
the ingenue. You are the lover — I am the true 
and tender woman. Make your proposal. 



COURTSHIP WITH VARIATIONS. 123 

Virginia, with startling suddenness. 
I will ! [ Gravely'] Sir ! Kecognizing in you 
the possessor of many excellent qualities ; regard- 
ing you as a young man of amiability, good moral 
character, and — 

Ernest. 
And? 

Virginia. 

Vast pertinacity, together with some charms 
of person — regarding you thus, I say, a young 
friend of mine desires that I should speak in her 
name. She finds existence a sad feast, when un- 
shared with any other loving heart. She feels 
that, to be truly comfortable, affection must sit 
opposite one at table and carve the roast beef. 
Will you undertake the discharge of these func- 
tions ? Come, blush, for form's sake, and say — 

Erkest, with ingenuous confusion. 

Yes! 

They slowly sidle toward one another, and at the point of 
meeting, with the suddenness of an electric shock, they resume 
their personal identities, which they appear about to fuse in a 
cousinly embrace. 

Erxest, suddenly recollecting himself. 
But stop — what am I doing ? It was agreed 
that I was not to breathe another word of love to 
you. 

Virginia. 

Unless — I asked you to. 



124 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ernest. 
Well, do you ? 

Virginia, shyly. 
Do you think it would be yery much out of 
place in 

Courtship with Variations ? 

Ernest does not seem to think it would. 

Quick Curtain. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 

COMEDY IN X E ACT. 
By A. H. OAKES. 



CHARACTERS. 



Feedeeick Beleoet, Ph. D v Professor of 
Inorganic Chemistry at the Metropolitan Univer- 
sity, 35 years old. 

Kate Wikstastley, his ward and pupil, 18 
years old. 



[The French original of this play is " Le Roman cPune Pu- 
pille^ written by M. Paul Ferrier.] 



A TEACHEE TAUGHT. 



Sce^e : Professor Belfort's study — a plainly fur- 
nished room. Writing-table, covered with 
papers, L. C. Door K. U. E. Bookcase Left 
side of room [not necessarily practicable]. 
Scientific apparatus, etc., disposed about 
room. General aspect gloomy and dull. 

The Pkofessok, alone. 

What's that I hear ? 

[Going to door L. U. E. and speaking off. 
Lunch ? For the sake of — pity ! 
Here's my report not yet half written, Kitty. 
Science and I are conquering vulgar doubt, 
And Luncheon comes to put us both clean out. 
Postpone it, Kitty. [Kate laughs, off stage. 

Ah ! that silvery laugh ! 
Too much for science and for me, by half. 
There, dear, I promise, next time, on my word, 
To be as punctual as the early bird. 
My life shall be the forfeit. Yes, I own it 



128 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

I am " just horrid." Well, you will postpone it? 
A half an hour ? 

I knew she would, God bless her ! 
Too gentle to the stupid old Professor. 

\He sits at table R. 
Sweet little Kate ! I'm doing wrong, in truth, 
To let her waste the blossom of her youth 
In this dull house, slaying for dull old me. 
And yet I can't — 
[ With sudden resolution] 

Hang it, I must ! 
[Turns to Ms writing] Let's see ! 
" This gas is strictly not a gas, but rather — " 
Look here, Professor, you're a precious father. 
These serious duties you've assumed, are you 
Quite sure you've conscientiously gone through ? 
The child of thirteen summers is to-day 
A woman — a " young lady." Come, we'll say 
You've taught her Latin, Greek, and Mathematics, 
Algebra, Botany, and Hydrostatics, 
History, Geography, and Physics — verily, 
You've done this thoroughly — and unnecessarily. 
wise preceptor ! with pedantic goad 
Urging the tender mind to bear this load. 
Putting a sweet child's youth upon the shelf 
To make her like your sciolistic self. 
At cost of happiness growing over- wise — 
She can't be happy thus. 

She has blue eyes 
And golden hair, and cheeks of rose and white, 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 129 

And I have set her Latin themes to write ! 

She's sweet eighteen ; she's pretty, and she's 



My Kitty's probably inclined to play. 
She'll learn to loye balls, dancing, admiration ; 
And then, of course, come young men, and flirta- 
tion. 
They'll find her pretty. That I must expect, too. 
Further, they'll say so. 

This I may object to. 
Well, well, a selfish gardener, my flower, 
My one, I'ye hidden in a gloomy bower — 
Eobbed it of freedom, as of light and air ! 
Knowing it dear, forgot that it was fair. 
Yes, she must wed. And may the happy wife 
Forget the girl's sad solitary life. 
And may she find some not impossible he, 
Young, gay — the yery opposite of me. 
And may the lucky deyil loye my Kate 
More wisely, and as well as I — 

[Looking at clock] So late ! 
Oh ! my report ! Let's see, again no use ? 
Science and gas may both go to the — deuce. 

Enter Kate L. U. E. 

Kate. 
May I come in ? 

The Pkofessoe. 

Of course ! 
9 



130 COMEDIES FOB AMATEUR ACTING. 

Kate. 

Here is a letter 
Marked "most important " — but perhaps Fd 

better 
Let the epistle with my luncheon- wait 
Till the report — 

The Professor. 
Unscientific Kate ! 
Give me the note, drop that irreverent air, 
And [reads'] — hm-hm-hm ! This, dear, is your 
affair. 

Kate. 
Mine ? Who's the writer ? 

The Professor. 

Buckingham de Brown, 
My pupil, he who was to settle down 
And study chemistry — which branch has missed 
A yery dandified young scientist, 
Whose careless laugh bids serious thought avaunt — 
He's just the very husband that you want. 

Kate. 
The husband ! 

The Professor. 
Yes, the very husband ! . Pray 
Listen to me, my dear. This very day 
I had recalled a duty long neglected ; 
That letter is no more than I'd expected. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 131 

Kate. 
But, if you please, what is all this to me ? 

The Professor. 
That's true, I didn't mention. Well, you see, 
Just listen then to Buckingham : " My dear, 
My most respected master " — So far, clear ? 

Kate. 
Quite. 

The Professor. 

Well, you see, I couldn't but remember 
That you were May, if I was — ah — September. 
Not with my logical train of thought to bore 

you— 
I felt that I must seek a husband for you. 
Of course, you notice the necessity ? 

Kate, crossing to L. 
You're in a hurry to get rid of me ? 
So, sir, to settle my hymeneal fate, 
Till long past noon you've let my luncheon wait ? 

The Professor. 

Kitty ! 

Kate, crossing R. 
I thought you deep in your report — 
Had I suspected anything of this sort — 

The Professor. 
Indeed, I — 



132 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Kate. 
No excuse ! it's rankest treason 
Against my welfare, without rhyme or reason. 

Why spend the time Science might better fill 
In marrying me off against my will ? 

The Professor. 
Aha ! I see. The persecuted ward — 
The cruel guardian — the unwelcome lord. 
"What, would the fairest maiden ever seen 
Braid the gray tresses of St. Katharine ? 

Kate. 
/ didn't say that. 

The Professor. 

Then the bridegroom meant 
Is hateful ? 

Kate. 

Not quite that — indifferent. 

The Professor. 
The ground for your objection I can't see 

Quite clear. 

Kate. 

You wish to marry him to me ? 

The Peofessor. 
He asks it. 

Kate. 

Well, it shall be as you say: 
You are my guardian— I can but obey. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 133 

The Professor. 

My dear, your choice shall be your own, of 

course. 
I don't habitually use brute force. 
But see — I am your guardian and your tutor : 
From these two standpoints do I yiew your 

suitor. 
I judge him by known quantities, and find 
The youth quite tolerable — neyer mind ! 
I'm thirty-five, old, crabbed, and pedantic; 
You are eighteen, and possibly romantic. 
Yoiv'ye formed your own ideal of a loyer— 
You want your romance — Buckingham goes 

oyer. 
So much for him. 

Kate. 

I think you take a pleasure 
In planning to dismiss me, sir ! 

The Proeessor. 

My treasure ! 
Dismiss you ! That is, to dismiss the light, 
The life of my poor house — to exile outright 
The gracious spirit, the delightful fay, 
Whose magic wiles the weary hours away. 
Only at duty's bidding am I fain 
To break my willing little captiye's chain. 
I shall be lonely when you leaye me — 



134 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Kate. 

Who 
Has spoken of leaving you ? 

The Professor. 

Not I, nor you, 
But common sense and reason. Fate lays out 
The path of every mortal. You forget 
How long we've walked together, you and I. 
It's more than time we separated. 

Kate. 

Why? 

The Professor. 
"Why ? " Do you ask ? My task is ended now. 
My friend, your dying father, made me vow 
That I would take his place — 

Kate. 

And well, dear friend, 
You have kept your vow. Heaven took Mm, but 

to lend 
A dearer father to the lonely child, 
Who wept, abandoned; learned to love, and 

smiled. 
I have never known a parent, saving you, 
Nor ever felt the loss, nor ever knew 
Where else to bring the love and gratitude 
I owe to you, so tender and so good. 
In all my childish joys and sorrows — 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 135 

The Professor. 

Crying ! 
Kitty, my dear ! Please don't ! Fm only trying 
To make things pleasant. 

Kate, still soiling. 

Oh, indeed, quite charming ! 

The Professor. 
I can't see that the prospect's so alarming. 
You'll have a quiet, obedient little spouse, 
And stay and share the old Professor's house, 
And he sha'n't part us. 

Kate. 

But I do not see 

Why there is any need of marrying me. 

The Professor. 
My duty. I have told you once, my dear — 
Your happiness. 

Kate. 

My happiness is here. 

The Professor. 
To that kind compliment I'm quite alive. 
But ah ! I know I'm old — 

Kate, laughing. 

Yes ! Thirty— 



136 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

The Professor. 

Five! 
Pull five-and-thirty. 

Kate. 
Five-and-thirty you'd 
Think marked the confines of decrepitude. 
My eyes may play me false, but yet among 
The younger men you seem to me as young. 
And you yourself know, I could never say 
"Papa" to you. 

The Professor. 
flatterer, away ! 

Kate. 
No flattery ! Get some gray hairs before 
I can believe you old, 

The Professor. 

You ask no more ? 
A gray peruke without delay Pll don- 
One with a bald spot. 

Kate. 

; Well, that's getting on. 

The Professor. 
And then we*li speak of marrying you ? 

Kate. 

Oh, come ! 

Marriage, like charity, should begin at home. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 137 

You who on marrying all the world are bent, 
Why don't you marry ? 

The Professor. 

1 ? That's different. 

Kate. 
" Do unto others as you'd have them do 
To you." Please say, is the reverse not true ? 

The Professor. 
A right sound doctrine ! But, all jest aside, 
Fve never married ; but — because — she died. 

Kate. 
Oh, pardon me ! 

The Professor. 

Well, from that day I vowed 
My life to study ; kinder fate allowed 
That you should fill the heart that bled for her : 
And I, by memory left a widower, 
And by my love for you, a father, thought 
My broken life was rounded — 

Kate. 

Which you ought 
Not ! Most decidedly. What if happiness 
Once more this "broken" life of yours should 

bless, 
Can you think truly the beloved shade 
You mourn would envy you ? 



138 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

The Professor. 

But what fair maid 
Would smile upon me now ? 

Kate. 

I know one or two 
That I could mention. 

The Professor. 

You have known me blue, 
Humdrum and stupid, misanthropic, slow ; 
Pedant and bookworm, rusty as a crow ; 
Bent o'er my books — I've almost got a hunch — 
And never ready at the hour of lunch. 

Kate. 
I haye known you good, and modest, too, about it; 
Wise without pedantry, though you seem to 

doubt it ; 
Kind, and still kinder than the world has known ; 
A kindness shown to, guessed by, me alone. 
And she would have just reason to rejoice 
On whom might fall the honor of your choice. 

The Professor. 
A list of virtues which would scarcely steal 
The heart of a young lady — 

Kate. 

I appeal 
From that unrighteous verdict. Do you hold 
All girls so frivolous ? 



a teacher taught. 139 

The Professor. 

No. not when they're old. 

Kate. 
Indeed ! Your mood's sarcastic, sir, to-day. 
Believe nie, there are some quite different ! 

The Propessor. 

Nay! 
Deceiver worst of all, can even your flattery 
Call me respectable in my — my — cravattery ? 

[touching Ms necktie.] 
Is this old coat with foxy velvet collar 
The fashion ? Wouldn't, say, a half a dollar 
Be well laid out in treating to new soles 
These shoes ? My shirts would be but button- 
holes 
Were't not for you. And, worst of all my faults, 
Have I the faintest notion of a waltz ? 
Of talent, charm, or grace, have I one jot ? 
Would you take such a husband ? 

Kate. 

Well, why not ? 

The Professor. 
Dear child ! You're very young and innocent, 
And I — blind bookworm o'er my folios bent — 
Have never told you life may yet disclose 
Auother love than child to father owes ; 



140 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

And that some day — but I have been too fast : 
I thought you a woman — you're a child — 

Kate. 

At last ! 
I thought 'twould come. In toto I deny 
The soft impeachment. — Child, indeed ! Not I. 
I am a woman ! And my woman's heart 
Has known that love already — felt its smart. 
I haye had my romance — not a happy one. 
The sunflower of my life has found its sun. 

The Professor. 
What — no — it can't be ! Ah, I might have 

known ! 
Already — loving — secret and alone. 
And I guessed nothing. Yes, I see it now — 
Your late refusal. And I noticed how 
You started when I spoke. What could say more 
Clear that the little heart had throbbed before ? 
Who is your hero, then ? — Who is it ? Say ! 
Handsome and young ? Brilliant and polished — 

gay? 

And does he know that he has won possession 
Of that sweet heart ? Come, let's haye full con- 
fession ! 

Kate. 
Handsome ? — Perhaps ! I know that he is good. 
Young ? — Well, I think he could be, if he would. 
Less brilliant than profound ; less gay than true. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 141 

As far as I'm concerned, he — oh, he'll do ! 

I have known him at your house. I have loved 

him — well — 
Always ! But yet I've never dared to tell. 
And now I'm yery much afraid I sha'n't 
Unless he — helps me — when he sees — I can't ! 
I think he'll have to guess — I'd rather not. 
I'm going now — to keep that luncheon hot ! 

{Exit precipitately L. U. E. 

The Professor, alone. 
Kate ! I — confound it — I am dreaming — no ! 
Yes ! What's the lucky devil's name ? — don't go ! 
His name ! By Jove ! I must have fallen asleep, 
And dreamed. It strikes me I have dreamed a — 

heap. 
No, I'm awake. My wits haye ta'en an airing. 
Asleep or crazy ? Neither ! I am staring, 
Stark wide awake. Fates adverse and propitious ! 
What hear I ? Things impossibly delicious. 
Yet real — impermissible and real. 
That is important. I am her ideal. 
Is it — any other fellow, if not me ? 
No ! Can't mistake it — it's too plain to see 
She loves me. I am sure of it — I know it. 
That's what she meant. Didn't her features 

show it ? 
And I ? My heart I thought dead all the while 
Is beating in a rather lively style. 
My blood's on fire ! I feel just like a — star. 



142 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Kate ! I'm in love, dear— more so than you are. 
But no. The devil ! This will never do. 
I'm but a father to her. 'Tisn't true — 
Poor little thing, so good, so innocent — 
For love she takes a child's fond sentiment. 
'Tis madness — sweet to me, but madness still. 
And I must cure it, cost me what it will. 

Enter Kate, L. U. E., with the luncheon. 

Kate. 
The luncheon, sir. 

The Professor, huskily. 
My daughter ! 

Kate, aside. 

Daughter ! gracious 
His way of guessing things is — is vexatious ! 

The Professor. 
Come here, my child. 

Kate. 
I come. 

The Professor. 

I've understood. 

Kate, aside. 
Upon my word, I rather thought he would. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 143 

The Professor. 
I know your hero. 

Kate, aside. 

This is perspicacity 
Indeed ! 

The Professor. 

Although it took some slight audacity 
To recognize the flattering portrait. Yet, 
My Kate, think calmly if your heart is set 
Upon a love that may be, at the most, 
A warmer gratitude. I can but boast 
Poor paltry claims, that your too kindly eyes 
Exaggerate, to this too generous prize. 
You are young, and louder than cool reason's voice 
Impulse may speak, and guide a childish choice. 
When the young heart is filled with love's soft 

light, 
All things it looks on catch the radiance bright. 
You scarcely realize, I'm sore afraid, 
The shade you take for love — and such a shade ! 
But he you think you love knows all too well 
Your error : knows his duty is to tell 
What sacrifice, unconscious though it be, 
This dream entails. A cruel guardian he 
Who thus would cheat his child. My little Kate ! 
Your debt of gratitude, with usurer's rate 
Of interest, you paid me long ago. 
If debt there be, 'tis what to you I owe. 



144 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Pride of my home, joy of my heart — oh say, 
Is it a debt that I shall ever pay ? 

Kate. 
Then, my Professor, none may give you loye, 
Whose eloquence a heart of stone would move, 
Whose burning words would render, I believe, 
A Eomeo jealous ? You can not conceive 
A woman's heart must yield itself to one 
Who sings of love — as — well, as you have done ? 

The Professor. 
But, Kate ! 

Kate. 

You're better pleased the account to cast 
So that the balance to my side is passed — 
To search arithmetic and logic through 
To prove by A plus B I don't love you. 

The Professor. 
I cry you mercy ! 

Kate. 

To your will I bow. 
You were my guardian ever, and are now. 
You're wisdom's self. My eighteen years are wrong : 
Guide then my bark, since your own hand's so 

strong. 
Before your great experience I incline. 
To prove how I mistrust this will of mine — 
Write to De Brown, then, that at your command 
I accept his — love — his fortune, and his hand. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 145 

The Professor. 
Do you accept ? 

Kate. 

His hand, his fortune — 

The Professor. 

You're 
Not jesting ? He your husband ! Are you sure ? 

Kate. 
Why not ? He's young, destined to cut a dash, 
Handsome— and such a wee— wee — wee mustache ! 

The Professor. 
You are laughing. 

Kate. 
No. He is a good parti; 
A well-assorted couple we shall be. 
He's of good family, and, it's only fair 
To mention also, he's a millionaire. 

The Professor. 
I know you better than to think you speak 
Your mind in this. Your judgment's not so 

weak 
As that, my Kate. Your heart is not so cold. 
You're not a girl to loye a sack of gold. 
Say what you may, I don't believe you care 
For Brown, were he ten times a millionaire. 
You can not like him, and, to tell the truth, 
10 



146 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

I don't, myself, greatly admire the youth. 
A boy, as boys go, good enough, agreed — 
But not the one to marry you. 

Kate. 

Indeed ! 

The Peofessor. 
A shallow dandy — a mere mutton-head, 
Who puts on mighty airs ; snobbish, half-bred ; 
Ignorant, careless, loose, unscientific ; 
Of good works barren and of debts prolific. 
Laziest of men, unwilling or unable 
To read a book. At home in club or stable, 
But nowhere else — a man who will, of course, 
Divide his love between you and — his horse. 

Kate, aside. 
I thought so. 

The Professor. 
He's unworthy such a treasure. 
Look elsewhere for a husband. 

Kate. 

At your pleasure. 
Just as you say. But I supposed you knew 
I was but doing as you told me to. 

The Peofessor. 
Well— but— I thought— 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 147 

Kate. 
You see, one may mistake 
At any age. But what choice shall I make ? 
Young Buckingham de Brown is, we will say, 
A type of all the young men of the day. 
If this be so, and if we won't haye him, 
The chances of the rest grow rather slim. 
In very truth, as far as I can see, 
I'll never get a husband — 

The Professor. 

Kate, take me ! 

Kate. 

You? 

The Professor. 
Yes, my love, you wanted to, just now. 

Kate. 
Oh, but, since then, you know, you've shown me 

how 
I erred in such a choice . And to the letter 
I'll follow your advice. 

The Professor. 

For want of better ! 

Kate. 
Well, it might do, if you were not so old. 



148 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

The Professor. 
So old ? 

Kate. 

Yes, thirty-five. 

The Professor. 

I never told 
Any one that ! My birthday is next week. 
Fm thirty-four at present. 

Kate. 

So to speak, 
That's middle-aged. 

The Professor. 

I haven't one gray hair — 
In my whole head. 

Kate. 
Well, they'll soon be there. 

The Professor. 
No, I'll be bald first. 

Kate. 

But you never go 
Into society. 

The Professor. 
But I will, you know. 

Kate. 
Your dress adds to your years full eight or nine. 



A TEACHER TAUGHT. 149 

The Professor. 
Buckingham de Brown's own tailor shall be mine. 

Kate. 
Algebra '11 be my rival, I foresee. 

The Professor. 
Only to prove my love by A plus B. 

Kate. 
You'll not be ready when the lunch-bell rings. 

The Professor. 
'Twill be your task to teach me all those things. 

Kate. 
But then, my guardian, is it your advice 
That I should make this awful sacrifice ? 

The Professor. 
You saucy jade ! 

Kate. 
And only as a daughter 
Can a girl love the patriarch who's taught her 
To say "papa !" 

The Professor. 

No — that I did not — never ! 
Kate ! you're laughing. Oh, you saucy, clever, 



150 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Malicious — angel ! Jove enthroned above ! 
Mars ! Gods eleven, I have won her love ! 
Her love ! Yes, I was idiotic, blind, 
Not to have guessed it. Kitty, never mind ! 
We'll make up for lost time now — wait 

see — 
I love you, dear, more even than you love me, 

Curtain. 



HEREDITY. 

A PHYSIOLOGICAL AND PSYCHOLOGICAL 
ABSURDITY IJST ONE ACT. 

By ARTHUR PENN. 



CHARACTERS. 



Mr. Smith, a burgomaster. 

Mr. Smith, a drum major. 

Mr. Smith, a swell. 

Mr. Smith, a sporting gentleman. 

Mr. yok Bruckejstcrucke^thal, a gentle- 
man suffering from compatibility of temper. 

Mrs. vosr Bruckekcruckehthal, a lady suf- 
fering from the same cause. 

Miss Bella Smith, a young lady of great 
personal attractions, who falls heir finally — but 
perhaps it is as well ?iot to anticipate. 



[The French original of this play is " La Posterite d } un 
Bourgmestref written by M. Mario U chard.] 



I 



HEKEDITY.* 



Sceke : A public square in Hackendrackenstack- 
enfelstein,, a small German village near the 
Eliine. Burgomaster's house L., with practi- 
cable window over the door. Chair before the 
door. The Dew Drop Inn K., with a swing- 
ing sign. Chair and table before its door. 

Burgomaster discovered C. between Mr. and 
Mrs. von Bruckencruckentlial. Other villa- 
gers R. and L. 

OPEOTtfG CHORUS. 

Air : " TJpidee " or u The Cork Leg. v 
They say it is the proper thing 
That we an opening chorus sing ; 
And so we stand here in a ring 
To raise our voice from wing to wing. 

Although we do not think it nice, 
A single verse will not suffice ; 
More are included in the price, 
And so we have to bore you twice. 

[Exeunt villagers R. and L. 

* See Prefatory Note, p. 13, for remarks about the perform- 
ance of this play. 



154 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
Now, Mr. and Mrs. yon Bruckcruckenthal, I 
give you five minutes, not a second more. Be- 
fore being Burgomaster, I was Colonel in the First 
Hackendrackenstackenfelstein Mounted Fire Ex- 
tinguishers. To-day is the anniversary of the 
capture of Holzenstolzenburg. As an old soldier, 
I take part in the ceremony. I had already donned 
my Colonel's costume when you knocked, and con- 
cealed the warrior under the robe of the magis- 
trate. The sun will shortly appear. I give you 
five minutes. Speak ! 

Voi* B. 

Well — you see — your honor. 

Burgomaster, interrupting. 
Tell me quickly, what do you desire, Mr. von 

Truck ? 

Von B., correcting. 

Von Bruckencruckenthal, your honor. I want 
to be divorced. 

Burgomaster. 

And you, Mrs. von Truck ? 

Von B., correcting. 
Von Bruckencruckenthal. 

Mrs. von B. 
So do I, your honor. I could not think of 
opposing my husband. 



heredity. 155 

Burgomaster. 
What are your reasons ? Is your wife disa- 
greeable ? 

Von B. 

On the contrary. 

Burgomaster. 

Extravagant ? 

Mrs. yon B. 
He carries the purse, your honor. 

Burgomaster. 

Does she flirt ? 

Von B. 

Never, your honor. 

Burgomaster. 
Does she beat you ? 

Mrs. von B. 

Oh, no ! I love him too much for that. 

Burgomaster. 
Well, then, if it is not impertinent, I should 
like to know why you want a divorce. 

Von B. 

For compatibility of temper. 

Burgomaster. 
Very well, for incompatibility of temper. 



156 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

VON B. 
No, your honor, I said compatibility of tem- 
per. 

Burgomaster. 
I would comprehend. I do not comprehend. 

Von B. 

I will explain, your honor. When I want a 
thing, my wife desires exactly the same thing. 
When I want to go to the right, she says go to the 
right. The dishes I like she adores. I say scis- 
sors, she says scissors. The infernal similarity in 
our tastes, our ideas, in fact, in everything, makes 
my life wretchedly one-sided. Existence is in- 
supportable. I need variety, excitement, and not 
this disgusting monotony. That's why I want a 
divorce. 

Burgomaster. 

What say you, Mrs. von Truck ? 

Von B., correcting. 
Von Bruckencruckenthal. 

Mrs. vo^ B. 
Nothing, your honor. My husband must be 
right, since he is my husband. 

Von B. 

Just hear that, your honor. 



heredity. 157 

Burgomaster. 
Enough ! the five minutes have elapsed. Mrs. 
von Brokencrockery, come here. [Whispers to 
Mrs. van B.] 

Von B., aside. 
What is he saying to her ? Oh ! if I don't get 
a divorce, this devastating monotony will kill me. 

Burgomaster, to Mrs. von B. 
To be taken every morning and evening, be- 
fore meals. [To von B.] Mr. von Brokencrock- 
ery, come and see me in a week. Good day. The 
Burgomaster vanishes. [Exit L. 

Von B. 

What did he whisper yon ? 

Mrs. yon B. 
He told me of a remedy to correct myself. 

Von B. 

You don't say so ! What remedy ? 

Mrs. yon B., loxing Ms ears. 

That ! 

Vox B. 
What? 

Mrs. yon B. 
Every morning and evening, before meals. 



158 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

VON B. 

We'll see about that. 

Mrs. von B. 
Forward — march — look sharp ! 

Von B. 
Here is a remedy of the patent-medicine kind. 

Mrs. vo:n B. 
But it will succeed. [Exeunt R. 

Burgomaster enters L. from house in fantastic 
costume of Mounted Fire Extinguishers, without 
his boots. He strikes a solemn attitude before his 
door, and then sneezes. 

Burgomaster. 
Atchi ! The dream was strange. All night 
I saw my son, my long-lost son. If I could only 
recover him ! Perhaps the dream was a heavenly 
warning. I have long hoped that some lucky ac- 
cident would bring us face to face, and that a fa- 
ther's heart — [Comes down C\ It was in 1832. 
He was six years old. We bivouacked on the 
banks of the Kalbsbratenthaler. Suddenly we 
were attacked by guerrillas — no, gorillas — no, 
guerrillas. We seize our arms— I tell my son to 
await my return near a tree — I mount my steed — 
we fly to victory — the enemy fly from us — and I 
fly to the arms of Murphy — no, Morphy — I mean 



HEREDITY. 159 

Morpheus. The next day I return for my son. 
I found the tree. I had blazed it with my sabre ; 
but my son was — gone. [Chord.'] I interrogate 
the police — the detectives — but, of course, they 
knew nothing. Since then, no news. I have be- 
come Burgomaster. Once a year I rebecome 
Colonel. [Poetically'] Here comes the dawn. Au- 
rora, smiling child of Phoebus. Atchi ! [Sneezes 
— then goes up and sits before door, taki7ig out 
paper from pocket.] Let's see the news. "The 
Daily Comet." I like "The Daily Comet"— it 
always has such good tales. " Telegraphic News. 
By Cable. Associated Press Dispatches. Holzen- 
stolzenfels : The event of the day is the debut at 
the Eoyal Senegambian Circus of the riding man- 
monkey, the Cynocephalus." [Spoken] Cyno- 
cephalus — pretty name — 'tis a German name. 
[Reads] "This prodigy of strength — this hairy 
artiste — " [Spoken] Artiste. Ah ! he's an Ital- 
ian. [Reads] "This hairy artiste performs the 
most difficult feats with a facility extremely sur- 
prising. His best act is the Flying Leap of the 
Bounding Antelope of the Choctaw Desert." 
[Rises] Ah ! the father of such a son may well 
be proud. My Edward would perhaps have re- 
sembled him. My Edward ! Oh, that dream ! 
If I should only recover him, I would make him 
my friend, my companion, my boot-black. Ah ! 
away with weakness. I am a burgomaster — that 
is some consolation. Atchi ! [Sneezes. ] 



160 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Smith, a swell, enters L., with sack on lack, 
cane, eyeglass, etc. Very strong lisp throughout. 
Reads sign of inn. 

Swell. 
By Joye ! this is it. The Dew Drop Inn. 
[To Burgomaster] I say, my friend, does the Ply- 
ing Velocipede pass here for Holzenstolzenfels ? 

Burgomaster, majestically. 
In the first place, I am not your friend. In 
the second place, yon will immediately show me 
your passport. 

Swell, taking off sack. 
By Joye ! ye know, my passport is in my sack, 
my good man. 

Burgomaster, indignantly. 
I am not your good man. Your passport ! 

Swell. 
Give a fellow time, you know. You'll see, my 
name is Smith. 

Burgomaster, aside, excitedly. 
Heayens ! That eye ! that mouth ! those 
nose ! If it were he ! [Alou ( d] Your name is 
Smith ? 

Swell. 

Yes, Colonel. 



HEREDITY. 161 

Burgomaster. 

Call me Burgomaster. 

Swell, giving passport. 
There, enraged wretch ! 

Burgomaster, taking it tenderly. 
Call me friend. [Beads, aside.] Heavens ! 
he told the truth. [Aloud] Young man, your 
hand. I am also a Smith. 

Swell. 
You are no phenomenon, dilapidated indi- 
vidual. I know many more Smiths, without 
counting my father. 

Burgomaster, icildly. 
You have a father ? 

Swell. 
By Jove ! ye know. Do I look as if I grew on 
a rose-tree, aged innocent ? [Sneezes.] Atchi ! 
There, I am catching cold. 

Burgomaster, with joy, struck by an idea, aside. 
He has a cold. I have a cold. Perhaps it is 
hereditary. [Aloud] Young man, you resemble 
a son I lost. [Embraces him.] 

Swell, struggling. 
By Jove ! ye know ; he is mad. Wrathy curi- 
osity, restrain your emotion. 
11 



162 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster, putting hand to Swell's heart. 
You feel nothing there ? 

Swell, roughly. 
I feel a No. 11 hand. [Repulses Burgomaster, 
and sits at table i?., eating bread and cherries from 
sack. ] 

Burgomaster, L. 

How he resembles me ! This is mysterious 
— very mysterious ! I must dissemble. [Retires 
up L.~\ 

Bella enters R. tuith a small package in her hand. 

Ah ! Oh, dear ! Isn't it hot ! [Puts package 
on table ; sees Swell.] Ah ! a young man. Good 
day, sir. [Courtesies.] 

Swell, at table R. 
By Joye ! ye know. What a pretty girl ! 

Burgomaster, coming dotvn R. 
Female peasantess, your passport ! 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! a soldier. Good day, sir. [Cour- 
tesies. ] 

Burgomaster, severely. 

Your passport ! 

Bella, giving it. 
There, sir. 



HEREDITY. 163 

Burgomaster, talcing it. 

Your name ! 

Bella. 
Bella Smith, sir. 

Burgomaster, aside, excitedly. 
Smith ! [Beads.] Heavens ! 'tis true. That 
eye ! that mouth ! those nose ! If it were he ! 
[To Bella] You are a girl ? 

Bella, laughing. 
If you please, your honor, don't be stupid ! 

Burgomaster, dignified. 
Female peasantess, your language is incen- 
diary ! Kemember that I represent the law, and 
to say I am stupid — 

Bella. 

Oh, dear ! I beg your pardon, sir ; it was a 
slip of the tongue. [Innocently'] I know I should 
not always say what I think. 

Burgomaster, majestically. 
"Tis well ! [Sloivly exit L. 

Bella, looking at him, laughs. 
Oh, dear ! ins't he funny ? Some men are so 

ugly. 

Swell. 

Thank you for them. 



164 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Bella, quickly. 
Oh ! I don't say that for you ; you are quite 
good-looking. 

Swell. 

Thank you for myself. 

Bella, confused. 
Oh, dear ! that was another slip. 

Swell. 
By Jove ! ye know, I don't complain. I would 
say as much to you. 

Bella, sitting at talle R. 
Oh, bah ! We don't know each other. 

Swell. 
By Jove ! ye know, we must. Which way do 

you go ? 

Bella. 

That doesn't interest you ; you won't come. 

Swell. 
By Jove ! ye know, you don't know me. I've 
followed girls far plainer than you. 

Bella, conceitedly. 
I should say so. 

Swell. 
Coquette ! 



HEREDITY. 165 

Bella, confusedly. 
Oh, dear ! that was a slip. 

Swell, offering fruit. 
Have some cherries ? 

Bella, taking fruit. 
Yes, a few — a very few. Oh, ain't they awful 

nice ! 

Swell. 

You love fruit, like all Eye's daughters. 

Bella, eating. 
Eve's daughters ? Don't know them. They 
don't live in this part of the country. 

Swell. 
So you won't tell me which way you go ? 

Bella, rising. 
Oh, dear ! You are too inquisitive. I don't 
answer such questions [very fast], although 
Mrs. Jackman does say I'm a chatterbox. It is 
not that Mrs. Jackman is a bad sort of woman. 
Oh, dear, no ! but you see she is selling her house. 

Swell. 
Ah ! she is selling her house, is she ? 

Bella, chattering. 
Yes, and so I should have to work in the 



166 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

country, if I staid with her, and that would 
spoil my hands. It would be a pity to spoil my 
hands, wouldn't it ? 

Swell, talcing her hand. 
" By Jove ! I should think so. 

Bella, chattering on. 
So, you see, Mrs. Jackman said she should send 
me to her sister in town. 

Swell, quickly. 
Ah ! you go to town. 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! that was a slip, too. [Anxiously] 
Are you not going that way ? 

Swell. 
Yes. 

Bella. 

Oh, dear ! what luck ? We can go together, 
because, you know, I'm afraid of people I don't 
know. I don't associate with everybody. You 
see, when one is pretty — 

Swell, 
And when one knows it. 

Bella, innocently. 
Yes — I mean, no. Oh, dear ! you make me 
talk such nonsense, 



HEREDITY. 167 

[Duet may le introduced here for Bella and 

Swell. ] 

Swell. 

Have you a sweetheart ? 

Bella. 
None of your business. 

Swell. 
By Jore ! ye know, with those eyes, ye ought 
to have many. 

Bella. 
I have none. 

Swell, gallantly. 
By Jove ! ye know, I know one. 

Bella, innocently. 
Oh, dear ! do you ? 

Swell. 

Yes, by Jove ! Won't you give me a lock of 
your hair ? 

Bella. 
What for ? 

Swell. 
Why, isn't a lock of your hair a key to your 
feelings ? 

Bella, laughing. 
No, unless you pull it. 



168 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Swell. 
Then let me pull it at once. [Tries to kiss 
her, she escapes off R. He comes down front and 

sings : 

Air : " Up in a Balloon." 
Dearest Arabella, 

Meet me at the gate ; 
Come prepared to stay out 

Kinder sorter late. 
"Wrap yourself in cotton, 

Like a tooth that aches; 
Drink up the molasses 

For to-morrow's cakes. 
Eat about a hundred 

Pounds of honeycomb, 
With a pint of syrup, 

Just to send it home. 
Send to meet the other things 

Sixteen sugar-loaves, 
And, by way of spicmg, 

Take two little cloves. 
Cover with a pound of 

Maple-sugar chips; 
Put a stick of candy 

'Twixt your dainty lips ; 
Then tell Mr. Edison 

To send the bill to me, 
And charge you to the nozzle 

With electricitee. 
Then if you will pocket 

That piece of chewing-gum, 
Warble like a little bird, 

And I will come ! [Exit 



* HEREDITY. 169 

Drum Major and Sporting Gent enter L. 
Drum Major heavily bearded, in a fantastic 
drum-major's dress. Sporting Gent has spurs, 
a tohip, and jockey cap. 

Sporting Gent, continuing a story. 
But that is not all, young man. The most 
astonishing was the last Derby. A most gorgeous 
start ! Flatman got the lead on Freemason, go- 
ing like wildfire. Pratt followed close with Pret- 
ty Polly ; just behind was Miss Pocahontas, then 
Tomahawk. At the second jump, Miss Pocahon- 
tas got ahead — you understand. 

Drum Major, heroically endeavoring to under- 
stand. 
Yes, that young lady got a head — well ? 

Sporting Gent. 
Flatman let her pass. He knew he could beat 
her with Freemason at the last ditch. At the 
third fence, Tomahawk struck forward. But 
Pratt took a fence splendidly. 

Drum Major. 

Ah ! if he took offense, they had a fight. 
Who got the tomahawk ? 

Sporting Gent. 
Oh, no ! I mean he got oyer the fence. 



170 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Drum Major. 
Ah ! lie was the man on the fence. 

Sporting Gent. 
The ditch once over, Miss Pocahontas was 
coming in first, when Flatman jammed the spurs 
into Freemason's ribs. Chipney understood the 
danger, and brought up Tomahawk, and then 
Pratt began to saw at Miss Pocahontas's mouth, 
and on they went in fine style. Houp ! g'lang ! 
[Makes gestures of riding race.] 

Drum Major. 
I say, look here ! Is it to aggravate me that 
you get off these bloodthirsty stories — though it 
makes one's blood run cold — about your friend 
who saws at the young lady's mouth ? It's all 
wrong. You hear ! Ah, if I had only been there ! 

Sporting Gent. 
But, my friend, Miss Pocahontas and Free- 
mason are — 

Drum Major, forcibly. 
I am one — a freemason — and if any one struck 
me with a tomahawk, or forced spurs into my 
ribs — I— I — [ Calmly] I would complain at head- 
quarters. 

Sporting Gent, half angry. 
Thick-headed soldier, don't you understand ? 



~? 



HEREDITY. 171 

Drum Major, forcibly. 
I grant you must amuse yourself, flirt with 
ladies, but cut off their heads with a saw — oh, it 
is atrocious ! degrading ! That's my opinion. 

Sportikg Gekt, thoroughly angry. 
But, unfortunate wretch, did you never before 
hear the noble language of the turf ? 

Drum Major. 

The turf ? Stuff ! I never ate any ! But, 
if it cause you to act brutally to ladies, I don't 
want to eat any. 

Sporting Geot, laughing aside. 
Oh, dear ! isn't he green — verdant — refreshing! 
[Aloud] Warrior, you are a bore ! What do you 
take me for ? A sanguinary savage, with canni- 
balistic proclivities ? No ! I am a member of 
the Jockey Club, come here for the races. Have 
you never heard of sport ? 

Drum Major, stupidly. 
Support ! Supporting whom ? 

Sporting Geot, angrily. 
I say sport ! Sport. 

Drum Major, calmly. 
No, I never supported anybody. 



172 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTIXG. 

Sporting Gent, angrily. 
Go to the devil, if you can't understand ! 

Drum Major. 
I understand now. You wished to aggravate 
me. I shall complain to the Colonel. {Pointing 
to Burgomaster, who enters L.~\ 

Burgomaster, coming down C. 
A row here in my diggins ! What the diggins 
does it mean ? 

Drum Major. 

Colonel, this individual — 

Burgomaster. 
Call me Burgomaster. 

Drum Major. 
Yes, Colonel. You see, this individual — 

Burgomaster. 
Your passports ! 

Drum Major. 
Here, Colonel. [They show them.] This in- 
dividual — 

Burgomaster. 
Your name ! 

Drum Major. 
Smith, Drum Major of the Ninety-Ninth 
Scandinavian Horse Marines. 



HEREDITY. 173 

Burgomaster, excitedly. 
Smith ! Heavens ! That eye ! that mouth ! 
those nose ! If it were he ! [To Drum Major] 
To my arms ! 

Drum Major. 

Yes, Colonel. [Passively falls in Burgomas- 
ter's arms.] 

Burgomaster. 

Dear child ! It was you, was it not, I left on 
the banks of the Kalbsbratenthaler ? 

Drum Ma job, puzzled. 
On the banks of the Kalbsbratenthaler, Colonel. 

Burgomaster. 
Yes ; collect your reminiscences. Do you re- 
member Charley, to whom I lent the money the 
General gave me ? 

Drum Major. 
Oh, the General ! [Makes military salute.] 

Burgomaster. 

Charley, the apple-pie man, who used to make 
you apple pies and tarts. 

Drum Major, utterly bewildered. 
Pison tarts ? 

Burgomaster, excitedly. 
Yes. Remember ! Remember ! Ah, thou- 
sand thunders ! he forgets. 



174 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Sporting Gent. 
I say, Colonel, you crush my passport in your 
affectionate anguish. Eeturn it. 

Burgomaster. 
One moment. [To Drum Major] Stay here. 
[To Sporting Gent] Your name ? 



Smith ! 
Smith ! ! 
Smith ! ! ! 



Sporting jGent. 
Burgomaster. 
Drum Major. 



Burgomaster, reading. 
Heavens ! 'tis true. That eye ! that mouth ! 
those nose ! If it were he ! What shall I do ? 
Only wanted one son. I find three. I faint. 
[Faints — Drum Major catches Mm. Bella and 
Swell enter R. U.E.] 

Talleau. 

Bella, to Burgomaster C. 
Do you feel better ? 

Burgomaster, waking up. 
Where am I? [Looks around-.] Ah, yes! 
[Suddenly takes to striding up and down stage.] 
How embarrassing ! Three sons — which to recog- 



HEEEDITT. 

nize — which to press to my paternal bosom. One 
thousand conflicting emotions rend my tortured 
breast, and I have not my be 

Vos B., entering R. 
Your honor, here is an official telegram. 

Buego^tastee, bewildered. 
A telegram ! my son — oh, dear ! 

Vox B. 

They said it was important. [Exit R. 

BUEGOilASTEE, 

Important ! Well, duty after all else. [Reads] 
u Burgomaster Smith, on receipt of this, will scour 
the country with all available forces, and recap- 
ture the riding man-monkey, the Otocephalus." 
[Spoken] What ! the Cynocephalus has escaped ! 
How lucky if I recaptured it ! Ah ! there is a P. 
S. [Reads] " He answers to the name of Sir 
Thousand thunders ! if he were my son. How 
embarrassing! My duty. [Tai -tage R.] 

Sporting Gext, follows R. and statu:. 
My passport. 

BUBGOXASED. 

My affection. [Takes stage Z.] 

S ell, follows and stands Z. 
My passport. 



176 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
My head whirls. [Takes stage up R.] 

Bella, follows and stands up R. 
My passport. 

Burgomaster. 
The Cynocephalus my son. [ Takes stage up L. ] 

Drum Major, follows and stands up L. 
My passport. 

Burgomaster, O. 
Leave me alone. I can't think without my 
boots. 

All, coming O. 
But, Colonel. 

Burgomaster, heroically. 
I go to put them on. [Exit into house. 

Bella, R. C. 
He looks irritated. 

Sporting Gent, L. C, to her. 
Charming creature ! 

Swell comes 0. between them. 

Bella, courtesying. 
You are polite, sir. [To Drum Major R.~] 
What could have caused his emotion ? 



HEREDITY. 177 

Drum Major, R. 
Beauteous being, I know not. 

Sporting Ge:nt, less gallantly. 
One can easily understand that on seeing you 
he lost his head. 

Swell, coming again between them. 
By Joye ! ye know. Just approach a little 
farther off. 

Bella, to Drum Major. 
Perhaps he was ill. Do you know him, sir ? 

Drum Major. 
Siren, I do not. 

Bella. 
But you embraced him. 

Drum Major. 
I received the order — I obeyed it. But I 
should rather have it come from you. 

Bella. 
All three of these men seem taken with me. 
It is a most embarrassing position for a poor 
maiden. 

12 



178 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

SONG. 

Air: Any Waltz. 

What can a poor maiden do, 
Who is sought by suitors two? 

Or, perhaps, as you see, 

By suitors three, 
Who profess, and propose, and pursue. 

Swell. 
What can a poor maiden do, 
Who is sought by suitors two ? 

She had best married be ; 

So she should marry me. 
To her I will ever be true. 

Bella. 
What can a poor maiden do ? 
She can not cut her heart in two ! 

Or love all the three, 

Most aff ectionatelee ! 
She can love only one of you. 

Spouting Gent, repeats stanza sung by Swell. 

Bella. 
What can a poor maiden do? 
The prospect is certainly blue. 

So she had better flee 

To some far countree, 
Patagonia, Pekin, or Peru. 

Drum Major sings stanza sung by Swell. Then all 
four repeat. 



HEREDITY. 179 

Bella, E. 

Dear Hie ! it's really yery embarrassing. 

Swell. 
She sings like an angel. 

Sportikg Geot. 
She has a pace like a thoroughbred. 

Drum Major. 
Your song enchants me, oh, sweetest siren ! 

Bella. 

Bella is my name, sir — not siren. 

Drum Major. 

Yes, my siren. 

Bella. 
I say, what is a siren ? 

Drum Major, puzzled* 
A siren, fair creature — a siren is — 

Swell, interrupting. 
A woman with a fish's tail. 

Bella. 
Oh, dear, how horrid ! 

Drum Major. 
But, fairest, I assure you. 



180 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Sporting Gent. 

You're a bore, if that is your method of mat- 
ing love. 

Drum Major, angrily. 
You are a nice one, you are, after aggravating 
me by sawing off a young lady's head, you infuri- 
ated vagabond. 

Sporting Gent. 
Euthless wretch ! 

Drum Major. 
Thousand thunders ! A citizen insults the 
army. [Draws saire.] Dr-r-r-aw and defend 
yourself, vile caitiff ! 

Bella. 
Dear me ! they will kill each other. Help ! 
murder ! fire ! 

Swell. 

Ah, here is the Colonel ! 

Burgomaster, in door of Jwuse. 
Wherefore this noise ? 

Bella, R. to Swell 
He has his boots. 

Swell, R. 0. to Drum Major. 
He has his boots. 



HEREDITY. 181 

Drum Major, L. O. to Sporting Gent 
He has his boots. 

Sporting Ge^tt, L. to audience. 
He has his boots. 

CHORUS, all except Burgomaster. 

Air: "II grandira," from " La Perichole," Offenbach. 

He has his boots ! 
He has his boots ! 
He has his boots, and he's a man of gore! 

Bttegohastee. 
In private life I am a right good fellow — 

At most a very ordinary man. 
I play the flute, I play the violoncello, 

And on the drum I do the best I can. 
These tastes may cause my fellow men to shun me ; 

But still they show a breast unused to war. 
Yet now, behold [repeat], a change has come upon me ; 

I have my boots [three times], and I'm a man of gore. 

[Ohoetjs as before. 

My brain is clear ; my cra-ni-um is level ; 

I substitute the lion for the lamb. 
In blood I bask ; in devastation revel ; 

And that's the sort of hurricane I am. 
No more will I my spirit high dissemble, 

And imitate the clam on ocean's shore. 
The world shall shake [repeat], the solar system trem- 
ble— 

I have my boots [three times], and I'm a man of gore. 

[Ohoetjs as o&fore. 



182 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Bella. 
I should not like to stand in his shoes when 
he has those boots on. 

Burgomaster. 
Wherefore this disturbance ? 

Drum Major. 
He insulted the army. 

Sporting Gent. 
Not at all. He insulted this lady. 

Drum Major. 
I want satisfaction. Ber-r-r-lud ! A duel ! 

All. 
A duel ? 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! 

Burgomaster, confused. 
A duel. The Cynocephalus, my son. 

Drum Major. 
I am an officer. 

Sporting Gent. 
I might have been one. I will prove it. 
Colonel, lend me thy sword. 



HEREDITY. 183 

Burgomaster, waking up. 
My sword. [Looking at Sporting Gent] 
Heavens ! what do I see ? That whip ! those 
spurs ! 'tis he ! 'tis he ! 

Sporting Geot, aside. 
What does he say ? 

Burgomaster, to Sporting Gent. 
Your name is Smith ? 

Sporting Gekt. 
Yes. 

Burgomaster. 
I arrest you. 

Sportikg Geot. 
Arrest me ! What for ? 

Burgomaster, peremptorily. 
Your real name is Cynocephalus. You have 
escaped from the Eoyal Senegambian Circus. To 
prison ! [Aside] With my boots on, I am aston- 
ishingly clever. 

Sporting Gekt, takes R. 
This is an outrage ! 

Swell [lisping]. 
By Jove ! ye know, you thee what it is to be 
too gallant. 



184 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster, hurriedly. 
What do I hear ? That foreign accent. 'Tis 
he ! [To Swell] Your name is Smith. 

Swell. 
Yes. 

Burgomaster. 
I arrest you. 

Bella. 

Oh, dear ! 

Swell, angrily. 

Arrest me ! Why ? 

Burgomaster. 
You will be told after. 

Swell. 

What right have you to — ? 

Burgomaster, grandly. 
By my authority as Burgomaster, I order you 
to prison, which you will leave [excitedly] only to 
do the Flying Leap of the Bounding Antelope of 
the Choctaw Desert. 

Swell. 
The flying leap. 

Sportikg Gekt. 

The bounding antelope. 

Bella. 
The Choctaw Desert. 



HEREDITY. 185 

Swell. 
Sanguinary antiquity, this is an outrage to — 

Burgomaster, grandly. 
You resist. Ah, ha ! 'tis well. Drum Major, 
I invoke your assistance. Seize that bloodthirsty 
ruffian. [Points to Sporting Gent and takes 
Swell by collar. ] 

Swell, struggling feebly. 
Thith ith outrageouth. By Jove ! ye know, 
to arrest a fellow for no offenth. 

Burgomaster, with lisp and Swell's accent. 
By Jove ! ye know, I know your offenth. 

Swell, struggling feebly . 
Let me get my thack. 

Burgomaster. 
Fll keep your thack, you thee. 

Swell, ivildly. 
He taketh my thack ; he taketh my accent ; 
he taketh me by the collar ; he hath a yery taking 
way. 

Burgomaster. 

It aggravates him to be taken off, poor little 
fellow. 

Swell, struggling. 

Don't pull my collar. 



186 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
Don't be choleric. [Pulls him into house 
where Drum Major has put Sport, and locks door.] 

Drum Major. 

Ah, Colonel ! I think I was of great assis- 
tance. 

Burgomaster, calmly. 

Drum Major, I am satisfied with your conduct 
on this memorable and glorious, though sangui- 
nary, occasion. [Suddenly regarding Drum Ma- 
jor.] Ah ! what do I see ? Ah ! [Jumps wildly.] 
The monkey-man is bearded. This hair. [Point- 
ing to Drum Major.] He answers to the name 
of Smith. [To Drum Major] Cynocephalus, I 
arrest you. 

Drum Major, astonished. 
How, Cynocephalus ! I do not know that in- 
dividual. He is not in my regiment. 

Burgomaster, authoritatively. 
I arrest you — you are a leapist. 

Drum Major, astonished. 
But, Colonel. 

Burgomaster. 
You resist ? Ah, ha ! to prison. [Crosses L.] 



HEREDITY. 187 

Drum Major. 
But I am the Drum Major of the Ninety-ninth 
Scandinavian Horse Marines. 

Burgomaster. 
No observations ! [Pushes him into house, 
locks door, and comes down B.] At last. 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! Poor young man ! 

Burgomaster, sagely to Bella. 
Female peasantess, your name is Smith ? 

Bella. 
Bella Smith, your honor. 

Burgomaster, aside. 
Ha, ha ! This is suspicious. We must cross- 
question her. [Aloud] So you pretend to be a 
girl ? 

Bella. 

Yes, your honor. 

Burgomaster. 
Call me Colonel. 

Bella. 

Yes, your honor. What have these poor 
young men done, to be locked up ? 



188 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomastek, inquisitionally . 
You are going to the railroad ? 

Bella. 
Yes, your honor. 

Burgomaster, roughly. 
Call me Colonel. 

Bella. 
Yes, your honor. Why did you arrest them ? 
It is perfectly ridiculous. 

Burgomaster, dignified. 
Female peasantess ! 

Bella. 

Oh, dear ! it was a slip. Is it because they 
would not be your sons ? 

Burgomaster, grandly. 
They are my sons no longer. 

Bella. 

Who are they then ? 

Burgomaster, wildly. 
Who are they? [Calmly] The Cynocephalus. 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! Which ? 



HEREDITY. 189 

Burgomaster. 

All three. 

Bella. 

That is utterly idiotic. 

Burgomaster, severely. 
Female peasantess ! 

Bella. 

It was a slip. [Coaxingly] Your honor, they 
have done nothing to you. Let me have one — 
the little one. He fell in love with me. 

Burgomaster, with the air of Brutus. 
His name is Smith. 

Bella. 
Is that a reason ? Mine is Smith, too. Why 
not arrest me ? 

Burgomaster, sagely. 
I thought of it. [Takes snuff.] 

Bella. 
Just what I should have expected from you. 

Burgomaster, dignified. 
Female peasantess ! 

Bella. 
It was a slip. [Very coaxingly] But, you 



190 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

dear, good, kind, nice old general, let me have the 
little one, please. 

Burgomaster, inexorable. 
His name is Smith. 

Bella, quickly. 
So is yours. 

Burgomaster, startled. 
So it is ! Heavens ! I had forgotten. What 
shall I do ? The orders are plain. Perhaps I 
am the Cynocephalus. 

Bella, watching hi?n, aside. 
Oh, dear ! What is the matter with him now ? 

Burgomaster, down R. 
An old soldier should suffer without complain- 
ing. I must incarcerate myself. [Goes majesti- 
cally to door L. and solemnly returns to Bella down 
L. C] [Suspiciously] You are sure you are a 
girl ? 

Bella, angrily. 
Colonel, you are an impolite old boy ! I am 
disgusted, astonished, and astounded ! 

Burgomaster, sagely, aside. 
Such mildness. She must be a girl. 

[Exit into house. Lights down. 



HEREDITY. 191 

Bella. 
Oh, dear ! how disagreeable. He might have 
left me one — the little one. The devastating old 
reprobate. And how dark it is all at once ! 

Swell, on ialcony, Sporting Gent and Brum 
Major behind him. 

Psth! Psth! 

Bella, looking up. 
Ah ! there he is. [To Swell] The Burgomas- 
ter has gone inside. 

Swell. 
Hush ! Speak lower. We will escape by this 
window. 

Bella. 
How? 

Swell. 

By means of that ladder, which I see there. 

[Points i?.] 

Bella. 

All right. [Sets it at side of house.] 

Swell. 
By Jove ! ye know, it is dangerous ; but I shall 
risk it. Hold firm ! [Aside to audience] Sensa- 
tion ! [He descends ladder calmly — music tremolo.] 

Bella. 
Heavens, this is frightful ! [Brum Major and 
Sporting Gent descend. Music crescendo.] 



192 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Bella. 
Saved ! Saved at last ! 

All. 
Saved ! {Burlesque sensation tableau.] 

Sporting Gent. 
Now to escape. 

Bella, up C. 



Yes— 

We— 

Must- 
Escape — 



Drum Major, R. 

Swell, C. 
Sporting Gent, L. 



QUAKTET. 
Bella. 
Now this is really trying : 
The time has come for flying ; 
But day is slowly dying, 

And we shall be in the dark. 

Swell. 

Let each one stick to the other, 
As though he were his brother, 
And never make any bother, 

While we are in the dark. 

[Choeus, repeat first stanza. 



HEREDITY. 193 

Sporting Gext. 
Without running, jumping, leaping, 
But softly, gently creeping, 
While all the world is sleeping, 

We steal away in the dark. 

[Chorus as before. 

Drum Major. 
Ere we can sing a ditty, 
We must be out of the city, 
Away from this maiden pretty, 
Alone here in the dark ! 
[Chorus as before, ending in short, mysterious dance. 

Swell, L. C. 
When does the first train pass ? 

Sporting Gent. 
I have my paper in my pocket [takes out pa- 
per], but I can't see. [To prompter, off stage]. 
Turn up the gas a little, please. [Lights up.] 
Thank you. 

Stvell. 

The latest from the seat of war. 

All, anxiously. 
Ah! J 

Sporting Gent. 
No news. 

Swell, looking on paper, starting. 
Ah! 

13 



194 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

All. 
What? 

Swell. 
Here. * 

All. 
Yes. 

Swell. 

See ! [Pointing to paper. ] 

All. 
Well? 

Swell, reads. 

"Information wanted of a Mr. Smith, who 
was Colonel of the Hackendrackenstackenfelstein 
Mounted Fire Extinguishers, who in 1832 lent 
money to one Charley, the apple-pie man."' 

Bella. 
The Burgomaster. 

Swell. 

Listen ! "The said Charley, being a widow, 

died, leaving a fortune of thirty-two millions to 

the said Smith." 

All. 

Thirty-two millions. Oh ! 

Bella. 
You lose time ; you must fly. 

Swell. 
True. [Aside, going] And he took me for 
his son. 



HEREDITY. 



195 



Sporting Gent, aside. 
After all, lie may be my father. 

Drum Major, aside. 
Since lie is my superior, and he says he is my 
father — 

Bella, looking in house L. 
He comes. Hide. 

All. 
Yes. [Enter inn R. 

Von B. enters R., goes L. 

Von B. 

Your honor, another telegram. 

Burgomaster, inside. 

What is it ? 

Von B. 

An official telegram. 

, Burgomaster, at door, taking it. 
Heavens! [von B. exits.] "The Cynoceph- 
alus was recaptured this morning in the spire of 
Trinity Church." [Comes down C] Then I am 
free. These young persons are innocent. 

Bella, aside. 

Oh, dear ! I hope he won't perceive their 
flight. 



196 COMEDIES FOE AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
They must be released. 

Swell, at the door of inn, overhearing, aside. 
Kelease us. 

Burgomaster, turning, sees him. 
What do I see ? 

Bella, aside. 
How imprudent! 

Swell, comifig down, followed ly Sporting Gent 
and Drum Major. 
Yes, it is I. I had escaped. I was wrong. 
I would not injure a noble Burgomaster. I re- 
turn. Arrest me. 

Drum Major, heroically. 
Me. 

Sporting Gent, nobly. 
And me. 

Burgomaster, explaining. 
But— 

Swell. 

I shall obey you as a father. 

Burgomaster, rapturously. 
A father ! 

Drum Major. 

Colonel, you also called me your son. 



HEREDITY. 197 

Burgomaster. 
How embarrassing ! What shall I do ? 

Bella. 
Perhaps they are all your sons. 

Swell, Sporting Gent, and Drum Major. 
Father ! [Kneeling.] 

Tableau. 

Burgomaster. 
Oh, my heart is distracted ! My sons in my 
arms — all three. [He embraces them all.~\ 

Bella. 

Oh, dear ! this is affecting. 

Burgomaster, rejecting them severely. 
Now tell me why you left the tree where I 
placed you ? 

Drum Major, dubiously. 
The tree ? 

Sporting Gent, inquiringly. 

The tree ? 

Swell, wildly. 
The tree ? 

Bella. 
They have forgotten. 



198 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Burgomaster. 
True, it was long ago. [Suddenly] Do you 
remember your great-aunt, Amethystenella Smith? 

Bella, surprised, coming down. 
Amethystenella was my mother. [Chord, 

All. 
Ah! 

Bella. 

Yes. As a proof of it, here is her cross. 

All. 
Ah ! her mother's cross. 

Bella. 
And here are her papers. 

Burgomaster. 

Can she be my niece ? [Trying to read pa- 
pers.'] I can't read with my boots on. [To Sivell~] 

Eead! 

Swell. 

Yes. [Reads.] Ha ! Thith ith hith aunt. 

Sporting Gent, lisps. . 
Hith aunt. 

Drum Major, lisps. 
Hith aunt. 

Bella, lisps. 
Hith aunt, 



HEREDITY. 199 

CHORUS. 
Air : M He has his boots." 

This is his aunt, [three times] he never knew before. 

Burgomaster. 
Ith is my aunt. 

Bella. 
Yes, your aunt. Only what I regret is, you 
did not find it out before, as now you may think 
I recognize you on account of your fortune. 

Burgomaster, astonished. 
My fortune. 

Drum Major. 
Yes. Charley has died and left you thirty- 
two millions. 

Burgomaster. 
Charley dead ! Poor old fellow ! Ah ! my 
sons, I adopt you all ; you must never leave me. 

Swell, Sporting Geot, and Drum Major. 
We won't. 

Burgomaster, confidentially. 
We ought to have a wedding to end up, 

Swell, L. C, taking Bella's hand. 
We will see to that [To Bella, L.] Won't 
we, dearest ? 



200 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Bella. 
Yes, ducky. 

Mr. and Mrs. von B. enter R. 

Mr. yon B. 

Our married life begins anew. 

Mrs. yon B. 
Yes, we've agreed to disagree. 

Burgomaster. 
All right, now we only need a little music to 



end. 



MUSICAL FINALE, 

Air : " Yankee Doodle." 

Burgomaster, E. G. 
To sing a song is never wrong, 

And so we'll have a chorus. 
Yonr stay with us we'll not prolong, 

O friends we see before us. 

All, repeat as chorus. 
To sing a song, etc. 

Swell, L. G. 
Put on your shawls ! These mimic halls 

Will soon be very lonely. 
We ask, before the curtain falls, 

Your approbation only. 



HEREDITY. 201 



All, repeat as chorus. 
To sing a song, etc. 

Bella, C. 
Here we all stand, a timid band, 

We can not now dissemble ; 
Until yon give what we demand, 

We shiver, shake, and tremble, 

All, repeat as chorus, 
To sing a song, etc. 

Curtain. 



FRANK WYLDE. 

COMEDY IN ONE ACT. 
By J. BRANDER MATTHEWS. 



CHARACTERS, 



Frank Wylde. 

Captain Culpepper Coldspring, of Rio 
Janeiro, Brazil. 

Mrs. Juliet Montague, his niece. 
Kose, her maid. 



[The French original of this play is " Le Serment d? Horace," 
written by M. Henry Miirger.] 



FEANK WYLDE. 



Sceke : A handsome parlor. Doors 0., E. 2 E., 
and L. 1 E. Fireplace L. 2 E. Clock and 
handsome yases on mantelpiece L. 2 E. Ta- 
ble R., with books, two cheap china vases, and 
Mrs. Montague's photograph neatly framed. 
Piano L. C, with two cheap china vases on 
it. Mrs. Montague's miniature on wall R. 
Sofa before fire C. Folded screens at back 
L. C. 

Rose discovered, lighting gas. 

Rose. 
Well, I must say that I like these apartment 
houses better than a horrid hotel. French flats 
they call 'em. I don't think the French are flats 
at all if they invented these houses and cooking, 
and the fashions besides. [ Clock on mantel strikes 
eight.] Eight ! She must be done dinner by this 
time ! Ah ! Here she is ! 

Mes. Juliet Moktague, entering D. C. 
Rose ! . 



206 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Rose. 
Yes, ma'am. 

Mrs. Montague, languidly. 

Bring me a chair by the fire ! Not that one. 
An arm-chair. 

Rose. 

Here, ma'am. [Putting arm-chair before fire. ] 

Mrs. Montague. 
Those elevators are always so cold. [Sits and 
warms her feet. ~\ Has the Captain come in yet ? 

Rose. 
No, ma'am. 

Captain Culpepper Coldspring throws open 
D. C, rushes in violently, very angry. 

The devil take New York and the New-York- 
ers. They're a pack of ninnies ! fools ! [Shout- 
ing'] Idiots ! 

Rose, hurriedly, bringing vase from piano. 

Here, sir ! [Captain smashes it angrily on 
floor, and rushes off, banging door L. IE.] 
[Frightened] Ah ! 

Mrs. Montague, very calmly, glancing at herself 
in a mirror. 
Well, Rose, what's the matter ? 



FRANK VfYLDE. 207 

Eose. 
I shall never get used to the Captain, ma'am. 
He's very savage. 

Mrs. Montague. 

I suppose he has been quarreling. [Calmly] 
I hope he has not killed anybody. Gather up the 
fragments, Kose ; put them with the others ! 
[Rose picks up bits of china vase, and throws them 
in basket behind fireplace L. 2 E.] And in case 
his wrath is not yet assuaged, have another fire- 
escape — safety-valve — lightning-rod ready for him ! 

Captain, off L. 
Eose ! [Entering L.IK] Eose ! 

Eose, going for another vase. 
Sir? J JJ 

Captain. 
Lay to ! 

Eose, surprised. 
Lay to ? 

Captain, sharply. 
Lay to ! 

Eose. 
But, sir — I — 

Captain. 
Stop! 

Eose. 
Ah ! I see ! Never having navigated, sir, I 
didn't know. After this I'll lay to ! 



208 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Captain. 
Shut up ! I don't like your voice ! Get an- 
other organ or I'll discharge you ! 

Eose. 
But; sir, indeed, I — 

Captain. 
Silence ! Take this money and give it to that 
waiter of Delmonico's outside ! [Shouting] Why 
don't you go ? [Eose jumps, frightened, and exit 
C] That girl irritates my nerves ! [About to 
take vase from mantelpiece.} 

Mrs. Montague, calmly. 
Excuse me, uncle, one of these. [Pointing 
to cheap vases on table.] It it's the same to you ? 

Captain. 
I have no preference ! Besides, I am calm now. 

Mrs. Montague, tranquilly. 
What has happened ? I am all anxiety. 

Captain, warming Ms coat-tails at fire. 
Nothing much ! only this, in fact. I was puffing 
a Partaga on Broadway, and I met Pacheco Go- 
mez; you remember Gomez ? Eh ? Not a bad 
fellow at all, for a greaser ; they hung him three 
times in Paraguay during Lopez's day. 



FRANK WYLDE. 209 

Mrs. Montague. 

Is lie well ? 

Captain. 

Bad cold. " Coldspring ! " said he. " Go- 
mez!" said I. "Yes!" said he. "Come and 
dine ! " said I. And so we walked into Delmoni- 
co's and had a good dinner, except' the fish, too 
old, and the sherry, too young. I call for the bill 
and wait ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, by the 
watch. At last the bill comes. 

Mrs. Montague, calmly. 

Yes? 

Captain. 

But it was not for me, but for a gentleman who 
dined near us. I told him very politely that I had 
asked for my bill before him, and I forbade his pay- 
ing before me or I would break a bottle on his 
head. 

Mrs. Montague, tranquilly. 

Well? 

Captain. 

Well, he pays, and I present him with a bottle 
of claret, on the head, Chateau Margaux, '49. 

Mrs. Montague. 

You killed him ? 

Captain. 
Good claret never hurt anybody. He returned 
my favor by a Due de Montebello, extra sec. A 
14 



210 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

battle is waged in the Champagne country. Bow, 
shouts, everything topsy-turvy. The waiters 
rush in. Gomez and I seize two slaves and hurl 
them through the window. General astonish- 
ment. Kow ; police ; smash — dinner, $25 ; other 
luxuries, $80 ; total, $105. Things are so dear 
in New York. Ah ! Juliet, you had better come 
back to Brazil. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Never again ! I love New York. 

Captain, throwing himself on sofa ly Mrs. 

Montague. 
Then acknowledge that Fm a pretty good spe- 
cimen of an uncle. Your old husband exploring 
the Pampas is bitten by a snake : in twelve min- 
utes you are a widow ; in twelve days you are con- 
soled. 

Mrs. Montague. 

Oh, uncle ! Oh ! 

Captain. 
My dear, we are alone ! You curbed your 
sorrow carefully, I can certify. 

Mrs. Montague. 
I assure you — 

Captain. 
You wept for your husband twelve days ; you 
might have finished the fortnight ; you didn't— 



FRANK WYLDE. 211 

that's your lookout. On the thirteenth day you 
cried, U I am free, dear uncle, good uncle, kind 
uncle ; I want to see New York." And here we 
are ! 

Mrs. Montague, hissing him. 
You dear, good, kind old uncle ! 

Captain. 
Exactly. For you I have abandoned my 
adopted country, my dear Brazil. And to think 
you could give me back all this — all that I have 
given up. 

Mrs. Montague. 
How? 

Captain. 
Remarry ! Try Cuttyback ! 

Mrs. Montague, rising. 
A commonplace commission-merchant ! Nev- 
er ! Besides, I don't like Mr. Cuttyback ! 

Captain. 
He is rich, and yet young — only thirty-two. 
The mean of human life is thirty-three. Cutty- 
back has only one year more. In another year 
you are again a widow. That don't matter ; you 
make a jolly little widow ! 

Mrs. Montague. 

Uncle, you are a wretch ! 



212 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Captain. 
If Cuttyback is not amenable to these statistics, 
just return to Brazil ; inoculate him with a taste 
for botany ; he wanders o'er the Pampas, and 
then — pop ! The happy serpent that made you 
a widow has probably brought up a struggling 
family. 

Mrs. Montague. 

Uncle, you are atrocious ! 

Captain, toasting Ms feet and chuckling. 
Ha ! ha ! I must have my joke. Poor Cutty- 
back ! Josiah Cuttyback ! Has he been courting 
to-day ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
No! 

Captain. 
Perhaps he forgot it, he is so absent-minded. 
Perhaps he called while you were out. Eose ! 

Eose ! 

Eose, entering C. 
Sir? 

Captain. 

Has Mr. Cuttyback called to-day ? 

Eose. 

No, sir. 

Captain. 
He forgot it. Absent - minded Cuttyback ! 
[Takes Ms hat.] 



frank wylde. 213 

Mrs. Montague. 

Are you going out ? 

Captain. 
For a minute only. Gomez and I are going 
to have a Mocha and a fire-water together at the 
Hoffmann. Ah ! By the by, Eose, have they 
brought my coat ? 

Eose. 
Not yet, sir. 

Captain. 
If the tailor comes, tell him to wait. [An- 
grily] Do you hear ? 

Eose, jumping. 
Yes, sir ; of course. 

Captain. 
These servants are so stupid. In Brazil, where 
they are black, you can sell them. But she is 
white. You have not the right. 

Eose. 

That's a very good thing ! 

Captain. 

This girl — this Eose, now, is insupportable. 
Now, if she were only black, she'd bring a thou- 
sand dollars. 

Eose, indignantly. 

A thousand dollars, indeed ! I should think so ! 



214 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Captain. 
Let's see your teeth. Whew ! Perhaps twelve 
hundred. But she's white. You haven't the 
right. [Puts on hat and exit C. 

Eose. 
What a tiger ! 

Mrs. Montague, rising languidly. 
My uncle goes out very often. [Sighs.] Fll 
try the piano. [Plays a few notes, then rises.] 
Oh, it's false ! It wants tuning — so do I. [Sits 
on sofa.] Eose, I'm very bored. Do you know 
what ennui is ? 

Eose. 
Yes, ma'am ; it's a French word. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Eose! 

Eose. 
Ma'am ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
Tell me a fairy story. [ Yawns and leans lack. ] 

Eose, laughing. 
Certainly, ma'am. " Once upon a time there 
was a beautiful princess, who was a widow, and 
beautiful — oh, so beautiful ! — as beautiful as 
Cleopatrick. One day, coming from the bath, 
she saw Prince Charming — oh, so handsome ! 



FRANK WYLDE. 215 

so young ! only eighteen — and such a lovely mus- 
tache." 

Mrs. Montague. 

Your tale is false, Eose. Prince Charming 
was a commission-merchant in Pearl Street, and 
his name was Josiah Cuttyback. [Bell rings.] 
There he is now. Let him in. 

Rose, sighing. 
Yes, ma'am. [Exit C. 

Mrs. Montague. 
He comes in the nick of time. I shall proceed 
to make him miserable. All men like being 
made miserable, and then it may amuse me. 
[Rose enters C, with a card on a salver.] Ask 
him in, Rose. 

Rose. 

Yes, ma'am — but it's not Mr. Cuttyback. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Indeed ! 

Rose. 
He sent in his card. 

Mrs. Montague, reading. 
"Mr. Frank Wylde." I don't know him. 
But perhaps he is some friend of uncle's. Ask 
him in. 

Rose goes to door C, and admits Frank 



216 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Wylde, who has a light overcoat over his arm 
and a note-book in his hand. 

Frank, lowing. 
Pray excuse the intrusion, madam. 

Kose, aside. 
I know it's him ! {Exit O. 

Frank. 
I have the honor of addressing [looking in 
note-book] Mrs. Juliet Montague ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
Yes, sir. 

Frank. 

Haight House, second floor, number two ? 

Mrs. Montague. 

Yes, sir. [Aside] This is rather odd. 

Frank pockets note-book, and, drawing white 
pocket-handkerchief from his pocket, spreads it 
on the carpet and kneels. 

Frank, 
Very well. All right so far. Madam, I haye 
the honor of offering you my hand and heart. 

Mrs. Montague, rising in surprise. 
Your hand ? 



FRANK WYLDE. 217 

Feakk. 

And heart. Both. I know you're going to 
say you don't know me. True, I don't know you 
either. You see, if we knew each other, it would 
no longer be fun. 

Mes. Montague, very calmly. 
A lunatic, an escaped madman, in my room ! 

Feank, trying to start conversation. 
You see, madam, I — 

Mes. Montague, pointing to door. 
Leave me instantly, sir ! 

Feastk. 
But— 

Mes. Montague touches bell on table. Rose 
enters C. 
Show Mr. — Show this gentleman to the door. 

Eose. 
Yes, ma'am. 

Feank. 

The deuce ! [Exit C, bowing profusely. 

Mes. Moktague thinks a moment, and then 
laughs. 
Ah ! ah ! There's a way of proposing ! "I have 
the honor of offering you my hand and heart." 



218 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Ah ! ah. ! How comic ! I ought to have let this 
eccentric being remain. He might have amused me. 

Frank, entering quickly C. 
He asks nothing better, madam. Let us have 
the kindness to be seated. 

Mrs. Montague. 
But, sir, to whom have I the honor of speaking? 

Frank. 
Certainly. Mr. Frank Wylde. [Bozos, draws 
up a chair, and sits.~\ Frank Wylde, by name 
and nature. My friends say Fm frank, and my 
most intimate enemies say I'm wild. My age — a 
certain age. I have arrived at years of indiscre- 
tion. My weight — one hundred and thirty-three 
in the shade. My fortune — twenty thousand a 
year. My profession [sadly] — unfortunate ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
You have a lucrative practice. 

Frank, confidentially. 
Fm a gentleman of elegant leisure. My fa- 
ther, unfortunately, left me a fortune, and I have 
nothing to do except to spend money and time ; 
and I find it very hard work indeed. Do you 
know, I think a man that has nothing to do is a 
nuisance to his friends and himself — at least, I 
find it so. 



FRANK WYLDE. 219 

Mrs. Montague. 
So do I. 

Frank. 

I am glad you agree with me. Yes, madam, 
my life is very monotonous. I get up — I break- 
fast — I read the papers. Nothing new, of course. 
I drive — I dine — I go to the club or the theatre ; 
perhaps I have supper. I go to bed — I sleep — 
and the next day [tragically'] — the next day I 
begin again ! 

Mrs. Montague. 

I sympathize with you. 

Frank. 
Thank you, madam. You see, having no- 
thing to do, I naturally want to do something — 
anything ! everything ! Hiding as I do in the 
Fifth Avenue omnibus of monotony, I need nov- 
elty. I thirst for novelty ! I die for novelty ! 
[Looking at his watch.] Please pay attention, 
madam. I can give you only four minutes more. 
Listen ! I was at a reception yesterday ; I left 
early, and took the wrong overcoat by mistake, 
and in the pocket I found the novelty. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Indeed ! 

Frank. 
Yes, madam. I found the long-sought nov- 



220 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

elty, bound in Russian leather. 'Tis here. [Show- 
ing note-book.] 

Mrs. Moxtague. reading. 
"Cutback!" 

Fraxk. 
Josiah Cuttyback, a commission-merchant, an 
absent-minded gentleman, too, for he has written 
over night all his intentions for the next day. 

Mrs. Moxtague. 
Ah ! Ah ! I see ! 

Fraxk. 
Madam, yon are perspicacious. My life bored 
me. I said : " Suppose I try Cuttyback's life ? 
I have nothing to do. Suppose I do what Cutty- 
back has to do ? " Here is the programme of his 
day's work — I have sworn to follow it faithfully. 
[Opens note-book.] 

Mrs. Montague. 
I confess my curiosity. 

Fraxk. 

" First : Buy 40 bags Java coffee and 75 bar- 
rels sugar." It is done. You may well say it is 
too much for a bachelor, but my morning coffee 
is assured for the rest of my life. It is done. I 
erase. "Second : At 7.30 p. m. offer Mrs. Juliet 



FRANK WYLDE. 221 

Montague, Haight House, second floor, number 
two, my hand and heart." I beg you to remem- 
ber that at exactly thirty minutes past seven I 
suspended myself on your door-bell. " Third : 
Don't stand any nonsense from the uncle, old 
Culpepper ! If necessary, be disrespectful ! " 
This paragraph is illustrated. 

Mrs. Montague. 

Illustrated ! How ? 

Fra:ntk. 
A horizontal leg is directed toward a gentle- 
man looking the other way. A dangerous para- 
graph, not fulfilled yet. I do not erase. 

Mrs. Montague. 
What, sir ! Would you dare ? 

Frank. 
Madam, I have sworn a solemn oath ! Lastly 
— "Fourth: At eight o'clock, take a Turkish 
bath. Kemember and have Mustapha rub me 
down." {Rising] Gracious heavens ! Is your 
clock right ? 

Mrs. Montague. 

Yes, sir. 

Frank. 

Eight o'clock ! Excoriated at the idea of 
leaving you, madam — but duty calls. "I go, 
but I return ! " 



222 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Mrs. Montague. 
That will be unnecessary, sir. If this is a 
wager, you haye won it. 

Frank. 
It is not a wager, madam — it is an oath I 
swore. I obey. I return. Mustapha must not 
be kept waiting. The purification completed, I 
return. 

Mrs. Montague. 

No, sir. Neyer again ! 

Frank. 
I go, but I return. {Exit G. 

Mrs. Montague. 
He's a lunatic. And here my uncle leaves me 
exposed to — [Laughs] Ah ! ah ! Decidedly, 
he is eccentric. "I go, but I return." I hope 
he will not, and yet — [Rings bell] 

Eose, entering C. 
You rang, ma'am ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
Open the windows here ! The room is close ! 
[Bell heard.] There's Mr. Cuttyback ! 

Rose. 
Shall I ask him in ? 



FRANK WYLDE. 223 

Mrs. Montague. 
N" — no. Say Mrs. Montague is not very well, 
and desires to be excused. 

{Exit B. % E., tell rings furiously. 

Rose, going to door C. 
Outtyback is in a hurry. {Opens door ft] 

Frank, rushing in quickly. 
I am furious ! Mustapha bad gone to Kalybia 
— to Ujiji — to look for Stanley, and will not be 
back for a year. Too bad ! [Looks around.] 
Why ! where is she ? Well, I like that ! She 
knew I was coming back, and yet she does not 
remain ! Some people really have no idea of 
savoir faire or savoir vivre. 

Rose, aside. 
Fm sure it is he ! [Aloud] Mr. Frank ! 

Frank. 
My name ! 

Eose. 
Don't you recognize me ? I am Rose. 

Frank. 
Eose ! What Rose ? 

Rose. 

I used to be lady's maid to Miss Montmorency. 



224 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank. 
Ah, yes ! [Changing tone] What Montmo- 
rency ? 

Kose. 

Miss Mary Montmorency, the prima donna 
who used to live in Bleecker Street ! 

Frank. 

Ah, yes ! of course ; but, Eose, you will under- 
stand that I scarcely wish to discuss such a sub- 
ject as Miss Montmorency of Bleecker Street, now, 
at the present time, when I offer Mrs. Montague 
my heart and hand. 

Eose. 

You're going to marry her ? 

Frank. 
Marry her ? [Looks in note-booh, .] No, I 
think not — no. I only offered her my hand and 
heart. That's all. 

Eose. 
Why not marry her ? She's a widow. 

Frank. 

Oh, ho ! It's a second edition, then ! [Looks 
at miniature .] Who's that ? 

Eose. 
That's her portrait. 



FRANK WYLDE. 225 

Frank, talcing it. 
Per bacco ! she's pretty — very pretty — quite 
pretty ! I had not noticed her ! [Pockets minia- 
ture. ] 

Rose. 

Mr. Frank, you mustn't take it ! 

Frank. 
Why not ? I'll send back the frame. 

Kose. 
Oh, no, Mr. Frank ; give it back at once ! 

Frank, not minding her. 
Eose, who's this ? [Takes photograph.] 

Rose. 
That's her, too. 

Frank. 

Indeed ! Her photo. You don't say ! Why, 
she's an angel ! a houri ! [Pockets photograph.] 

" O woman, in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace ! " 

Rose. 
Please give it back ! 

Frank. 
I'll return the frame ! 
15 



226 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Eose. 
But, Mr. Frank— 

Frank. 
Don't bother ! it isn't yours ! 

Kose. 
That's true. It's her lookout, not mine. 
[Turns up L.] Why, they've let the fire out. 

Frank. 
Are you cold ? [Kisses her.] 

Eose. 

Oh! 

Frank. 



I'ye struck a light 



Captain, rushing in C. 
The devil take New York and the New-York- 
ers. They're a pack of fools ! ninnies ! idiots ! 
[Shouting] Idiots ! 

Eose, bringing vase. 
Here you are, sir ! 

Captain, smashing it. 
Bang ! Ah ! I feel better. [Exit L. 1 E 9 

Frank. 
Who is this typhoon ? 



FRANK WYLDE. 227 

Rose. 

It's old Culpepper — her uncle. 

{Exit C. with broken vase. 

Frank. 
Old Culpepper — her uncle ! The illustrated 
paragraph ! Per lacco ! it won't be so easy. 

Captain, entering L. 

Here, Rose, take this fifty-dollar bill ! I say ! 

is there nobody here ? [Throivs his cigar-stump 

on Frank's feet. ] 

Frank. 

Look out, there ! 

Captain. 
You're a nuisance ! Go away ! Can you un- 
derstand a simple story ? 

Frank. 
I think so, if it's very simple. 

Captain. 
I was in the cafe of Delmonico's. Some fel- 
lows were talking about shooting and their skill. 
It annoyed me. 

Frank. 
Why? 

Captain. 
Don't be so inquisitive ! It annoyed me, I 
say ! I drew this revolver from my pocket — 



228 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank, uneasy. 
I say, there, it isn't loaded ? 

Captain. 
Oh, yes, one barrel ! 

Frank. 
That's enough. 

Captain. 
When the waiter brought me a light for my 
cigar — bang ! I snuff it at twenty paces. 

Frank. 
Ah, ha ! And you killed a mirror ! 

Captain. 
Dead ! Fifty dollars. How dear things are 
in New York. Eose ! Kose ! That girl will 
never come ! [Puts revolver on piano and pulls 
lell-cord — it breaks.] Eose ! 

Frank. 
Let me help you. Eose ! Eose ! 

Captain. 
Oh, these servants ! 

Frank. 
Horrible ! aren't they ? 



FRANK WYLDE. 229 

Both, going up O. 
Eose ! Eose ! Eose ! 

Frank. 

You're lively. You are — 

Captain. 
No, I am calm. 

Frank. 

Ah! Yes! 

Captain. 
I only get wrathy for sanitary reasons. If I 
was calm for more than a quarter of an hour, I 
should fear a stroke of apoplexy. [Anxiously] 
Am I red ? 

Frank. 
Very ! 

Captain. 

That girl will be the death of me ! Eose ! 

[Bangs table.] 

Frank. 

Eose ! [Aside] From a cursory examination 
I should say his character was a cheerful com- 
pound of cayenne and curry ! [Aloud] Eose ! 
Eose ! Ah ! an idea ! [Fires revolver up chim- 
ney.] 

Eose, entering C. 

You rang, sir ? 

Captain. 
Ah ! Ah ! That's an idea ! Thank you ! 



230 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank. 
Don't mention it. [They shake hands.] 

Captain. 
Kose, give this money to that waiter. 

Kose. 
Yes, sir. [Exit C. 

Captain. 
Ah ! That's better ! Now I have a quarter 
of an hour to be amiable. 

Frank. 
Ah ! Ah ! [Aside] He is amiable, and the 
pistol is not loaded. Now is the time for Para- 
graph Four. [Shakes his leg.] 

Captain. 
What's the matter with your leg ? Eh ? 

Frank. 

I'm a little like you — nervous ! [Captain re- 
loads pistol] I say ! what are you doing ? 

Captain. 
I always keep it loaded — for contingencies ! 

Frank, aside. 
It won't be so easy, after all. I prefer not to 
be a contingency. 



FRANK WYLDE. 231 

Mrs. Montague, entering R. 
Good evening, uncle. [Sees Frank bow, 
laughs.] Ah ! Ah ! You here still, sir ? 

Frank. 
Yes, madam, I — 

Mrs. Montague. 
Indeed, this persistence is peculiar ! What 
da you want ? I do not know you. 

Frank, bowing. 
No! 

Captain. 

You don't know him ? I don't, either. Ah ! 
Ah ! Here I've been talking to him for half an 
hour. 

Mrs. Montague. 

He is a gentleman who offers me his hand and 
heart. 

Captain*. 
Indeed ! 

Rose enters C. 

Frank, lowing. 
Yours truly, Frank Wylde. 

Captain. 
But he is laughing at us. Rose, you are a 
maid of all work ; throw this gentleman out of 
the window ! 



232 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

KOSE. 

Oh, sir ! 

Frank. 
Oh, sir ! 

Mrs. Montague, coldly. 
Rose, Mr. Wylde's hat. 

Frank. 
Certainly, madam, but under these altered cir- 
cumstances I have no longer the right to keep 
anything that belongs to you — here is your por- 
trait. 

Captain. 
Your portrait ! 

Mrs. Montague. 

But, sir — 

Frank. 
I had taken it. 

Captain. 
Why? 

Frank. 

To keep it. Here's your photograph, too. 
Please excuse me. I have executed every para- 
graph, except one, and that was only owing to 
unforeseen circumstances beyond my control. I 
have done my best, at least. Here is Mr. Cutty- 
back's note-book ! [Mrs. Montague takes it.] 

Captain. 
Outtyback ! I don't understand ! 



FRANK WYLDE. 233 

Frank. 
That's unnecessary. Good-by, madam. I 
hope your future but absent-minded husband will 
not forget to make you happy. 

Mrs. Montague. 

He will not, if he carries out Paragraph Five ! 

Frank. 
Excuse me, there is no Paragraph Five ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
There is — over the page. It is indispensable ! 

Frank, anxiously. 
What is it, madam ? 

Mrs. Montague. 

You should have turned the leaf. [Pockets 
note-book.] 

Eose, who lias read over Mrs. Montague's 

shoulder, aside. 
Ah! Ah! I see! 

Mrs. Montague. 
Eose, show Mr. Wylde out ! 

Eose. 
Yes, ma'am, [Aside] Ah ! Ah ! That's a 
good joke ! 



234 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank:, discouraged. 
What can it be ? 

Captain, furiously. 
Are you going ? 

Frank. 
Ah ! your quarter of an hour is up ? Well, I 
also am wrathy ! enraged ! furious ! 

Captain. 
Egad, sir ! 

Frank. 
Egad, sir ! 

Captain. 

Thousand thunders ! 

Frank. 
Certainly, thousand thunders ! Paragraph 
Five. I shall find it, sooner or later. In an era 
when telegraphs, telephones, and railroads have 
been invented, I at least can discover a paltry 
Paragraph Five. I must find it ! [Taking and 
smashing vase.] Ah! That's better. [To Cap- 
tain] You are right ! It does relieve one's feel- 
ings. 

Captain, threatening. 

Will you go ? Thousand thunders ! 

Frank. 
I will go ! Two thousand thunders ! Eose, 
show me out ! [Exit C. with Rose. 



FRANK WYLDE. 235 

Captain, furious. 
Thousand thunders ! [Calmly] I like that 
fellow. What is it all about ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
Merely this : That fellow found Mr. Cutty- 
back's note-book, in which he had written his 
wqrk for the day — 

Captain. 
Well? 

Mrs. Montague. 

And that fellow swore to carry out Mr. Cutty- 
back's programme. 

Captain. 

Indeed ? Let us be on our guard. [Rose en- 
ters C] Perhaps he is a sneak-thief ! 

Eose. 
Mr. Frank ? Oh, dear, no ! He is rich and 
generous ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
Be still ! 

Captain. 

How do you know ? 

Eose. 
I was once with one of his — relatives, Mrs. 
Bleecker. 

Captain. 

He is allied to the aristocracy of Manhattan. 
Bleecker is a Knickerbocker name ! [ Clock strikes. ] 



236 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Eleven ! 

Captain. 

I did not think it was so late. Good night ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
I do not need yon, Kose. Good night, uncle; 

Captain. 
Good night, my dear. What a day ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
And what a night ! 

Captain. 
Oh, yes, the note-book! [Laughs.] Poor 
Cuttyback ! 

[Exit L. 1 E. Mrs. Montague exit R. 2 
E. Rose exit C. Stage dark and quiet. 
Door C. opens softly. 

Frank, entering 0. with caslcet in his hand. 
It's I. I am here. I've found the Paragraph 
Five. It was at home in one of my drawers. 
Here it is. That Kose is an intelligent girl. 
Perhaps it is a little late to present one's self in a 
respectable house. Especially when one is not 
invited. [Looks at watch.] Half -past eleven ! 

Captain, off L. 
The devil take this house ! I can't find my 
dressing-gown ! Thousand thunders ! 



FRANK WYLDE. 237 

Frank. 
The menagerie. On guard! [Crosses R.] 
The dove-cot must be here. My Juliet is the sun 
— here is the east. [Lighting gas calmly. ] Josiah 
Cuttyback, commission-merchant, is a fine fellow. 
He has excellent taste. Mrs. Montague is a 
charming woman. [Reflectively'] Of all wild 
beasts, woman is the most dangerous. But I have 
had some experience in the menagerie . Ah ! It 
looks jollier with the lights. Now for business. 
[Taps at door R. 2 E., and hides up R.] 

Mrs. Montague, at door R. 2 E. 
These lights ! What can it mean ? 

Frank, coming forward. 
It is I, madam. 

Mrs. Moktague, angrily. 

You, sir ? Again ? 

Frank. 
Again, and always ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
Leave the room, sir ! 

Frank. 
That is impossible, madam, until I have ful- 
filled my self-imposed mission. 



238 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Mrs. Montague, pointing to Captain's door. 
You will force me to call for aid. 

Frank. 
If you but open that cage, madam, you will 
read in the papers to-morrow : "Yesterday even- 
ing a horrible and heart-rending catastrophe oc- 
curred in one of our new apartment-houses. A 
young man, moving in our best society, was de- 
voured by a bloodthirsty wild beast from Brazil 
in the parlor of Mrs. Montague. It is supposed 
that the wounds are fatal." Let in the lions, and, 
like the old gladiators, I shall die saluting thee ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
I like eccentricity and originality. Yours 
might please me, but not at an hour like this — 

Frank. 
I understand and appreciate your scruples. 
[ Takes and opens screen. ] This divides the room. 
You remain at home, and I remain at home. We 
are neighbors, each in his own house. I ask only 
for five minutes to explain the cause of my return. 

Mrs. Montague. 

Five minutes ? Well, will you go after that ? 
[Frank makes the gesture of an oath.~\ Well, 
then, it is now five minutes to twelve — at mid- 
night you withdraw. [Sits.] 



FRANK WYLDE. 239 

Frank. 
In five minutes I shall have fulfilled Paragraph 

Five. 

Mrs. Montague, smiling. 

You know it, then ? 

Frank. 
Yes, madam. [Taking his casket.] Here it 
is! [Sits.] 

Mrs. Montague. 
A box? 

Frank. 

"Paragraph Five : Burn my love-letters be- 
fore Mrs. Montague." 

Mrs. Montague, taking note-book from her pocket. 
How did you discover ? 

Frank. 
A clairvoyant told me — on the staircase. Now 
to business ! [Takes letter from box.] 

Mrs. Montague. 
I scarcely think that I ought to — 

Frank. 
It would be neighborly. [Hands the letter to 
Mrs. Montague. ] Read ! It is very instructive. 

Mrs. Montague, hesitatingly glancing at letter. 
It begins with a burst of passion. 



240 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank. 
Is there a postscript ? 

Mrs. Montague. 
Yes, about a dress-maker. 

Frank. 

There is always a P. S., and generally a dress- 
maker. [Leans over.] 

Mrs. Montague. 
That's not fair ! You are cheating ! You 
said : " Each in his own house ! " 

Frank. 
I am in my own house — on the balcony. 
[Takes another letter'] Number two ! 

Mrs. Montague, talcing it. 
"I accept your invitation to superr" — one p. 

and two r's. 

Frank. 

She has since married a scene-shifter, rejoic- 
ing in the euphonious appellation of J. Stubbs 
Smith. Number three ! 

Mrs. Montague, taking letter. 
Number three is older, I should think. 

Frank. 

Yes, she was a widow, grass widow, in weeds, 



FRANK WYLDE. 241 

and wanted me to go without mine. I couldn't 
do without smoking, so I did without her. Is 
there a P. S. ? 

Mrs. Montague, turning leaf. 

Two! 

Frank. 

Of course. The second is merely to keep the 
first company. And it was not a good year for 
postscripts either. [Strikes match and lights 
packet of letters. ] 

Mrs. Montague. 
What are you doing ? 

Frank. 

I haye lighted the auto-da-fe. Now Para- 
graph Five is executed. Mr. Josiah Cuttyback's 
day's work is done. See it blaze ! My love-let- 
ters have gone to blazes ! Good evening, madam ! 

Captain, off L. 
Thousand thunders ! Where are my slippers ? 

Mrs. Montague, frightened. 
Heavens ! {Revolver heard off L.~\ 

Frank. 
It is only your uncle calling for his slippers. 

Mrs. Montague. 
Fly! 

16 



242 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

Frank. 

Fly ? Never ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
He will kill you ! 

Frank. 
You think so ? All right ! I did not know 
how to end the day. Now I am fixed ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
Here he comes ! [ Clasping her hands] For 
heaven's sake, fly, sir ! For my sake, hide your- 
self ! 

Frank, suddenly inspired. 
Ah ! an idea ! [Closes the screen around him 
as Captain enters L. 1 U.] 

Captain. 
How's this ? You are up ? 

Mrs. Montague, confused. 
Yes, I — I — couldn't sleep, and — and — I had 
troubled dreams. I — I — am not at all sleepy ! 

Captain. 
Nor am I ! Let's have a cup of tea ! 

Mrs. Montague, aside. 
Heaven help us ! [Aloud] A cup of tea ! At 
this hour of the night ! 



FRANK WYLDE. 243 

Captain. 
Yes ! — Rose ! 

Rose, entering C. 
Sir? 

Captain. 

Make us some tea ! 

Rose. 

Tea? 

Captain, shouting. 

Yes, tea ! 

Rose, aside. 

How did he get out ? [Exit C. 

Captain, going to screen and Jcnoching. 
I say, sir, will you have a cup of tea ? 

Frank, poking head over screen. 
Fd prefer chocolate ! 

Captain, laughing. 
Ah! Ah! Ah! 

Frank, laughing. 
Ah! Ah! Ah! 

Captain. 
Young man, I like you ! 

Frank. 
Indeed ! Why didn't you say so before ? 
[Comes out of screen.] Ahem! Sir! As the 



244 COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR ACTING. 

custodian of your niece, to whom I haye already 
offered my hand and heart, I ask your permission 
to pay my ad— 

Captain. 

I understand, but my niece's year of mourning 
won't be oyer for twenty-two days yet. 

Frank. 
We can mourn eleyen each ! 

Captain, laughing. 
Ah ! Ah ! I really like this boy ! [Bell 
rings.'] 

Mrs. Montague. 

A yisit ! at this hour ! 

Kose, entering O. 
It is Mr. Cuttyback. 

Frank. 
Probably he has forgotten what time it was ! 

Mrs. Montague. 
I don't want to see him. 

Captain. 
His arriyal is opportune — 

Frank. 
Here, Rose, giye him back his overcoat — 



frank wylde. 245 

Mrs. Montague. 

And his note-book ! 

Frastk. 
Permit me. [Writes in note-book] "Para- 
graph. Six : Don't bother Mrs. Montague again ! " 
Here, Kose, take it to him ! [To Captain] One 
paragraph there refers to you. 

Captaik. 
What is it ? 

Frakk. 
I'll tell you some day — when we're married. 
[Takes Mrs. Montague's hand. Clock strikes 
tivelve. ] 

[Curtain.] 



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